


thrice upon a time

by swansaloft



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fractured Fairy Tale, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swansaloft/pseuds/swansaloft
Summary: Perhaps a young ingénue will come across a beast, see beyond the façade to the inner beauty, and fall in love. Perhaps a young ingénue will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and fall into a deep sleep, only to be rescued by a gallant prince with luscious hair and eager lips.Well, our tale contains no ingénues, although there is a beast, as well as a princess with quite luscious hair.And lips. The lips will play a rather important role.(Or, a Beauty and the Beast retelling in which the Beast gets his comeuppance and Mrs. Potts gets the girl.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started working on this last summer, after I saw an on-stage production of Beauty and the Beast for the first time, was suitably blown away, but spent a good chunk of the second half thinking, "But what if she fell in love with Mrs. Potts instead?"
> 
> But then some things happened (*cough* Mari posted [her super amazing you-should-totally-read-it-if-you-haven't-yet retelling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7869742/chapters/17972380) *cough*), and I decided that two B&TB AUs in the same fandom at the same time would be a bit much, even ones so different, so I put the project on the back burner for a while.
> 
> In honor of the movie coming out this weekend, I decided to pull this one back out, dust it off, and give it a go. It's been a blast, though it is still a work in progress. I hope to update about once a week, and if I stick to the current trajectory, it should be around 20k.
> 
> But then again, I thought this chapter would be 500 words, so. What do I know?

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young princess lived in a shining castle-

  
  


No, no. That will not do at all.

  
  


Apologies, reader, because while the aforementioned fact may be true, it sets a certain expectation for the events to come. Already, you are likely envisioning the tale. Perhaps a young ingénue will come across a beast, see beyond the façade to the inner beauty, and fall in love. Perhaps a young ingénue will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and fall into a deep sleep, only to be rescued by a gallant prince with luscious hair and eager lips.

  
  


Well, our tale contains no ingénues, although there is a beast, as well as a princess with quite luscious hair.

  
  


And lips. The lips will play a rather important role.

  
  


So we shall continue in a manner more befitting our nontraditional tale (to say nothing of the convenience for myself, as it would be immensely difficult to begin this story in only one place).

  
  


Ahem.

  
  


_Thrice_ upon a time, there were several different occurrences that seemed entirely unconnected. Indeed, they took place at various points across the tapestry of space and time.

  
  


First, we visit the princess again. The princess _did_ live in a shining castle, but she was not your average princess, as she preferred to leave the majority of the royal duties to her older brother, the crown prince. She donned a tiara for formal occasions, but in activities, lifestyle, and everyday appearance, she was a knight, a title she had earned and in which she took great pride. Her success with a sword was unparalleled (unless you asked the castle arms master, who frequently shook his head and muttered laments about technique, but you cannot doubt that what the princess lacked in form, she more than made up for in enthusiasm), and the musculature of her biceps was nothing to sneeze at. Her arms were downright hypnotizing, really, all curves and sweat and strength.

  
  


...But I digress. You’ll forgive me, reader, for I am certain you understand that such a visual can be quite distracting, even in a mere recollection.

  
  


In any case, this princess was practicing her swordplay one evening with the other knights in the courtyard when she observed a harried man running toward the castle, bearing the royal insignia of a neighboring kingdom. He was stopped by the palace guards, but the princess commanded them to let him through. His message was a distressing one, the details of which, alas, must be left for another day.

  
  


Second, we must travel back in time and stop at the home of a wealthy earl and his wife, where a young woman was sneaking out of the house in the dead of night. In the interest of full disclosure, this was not a particularly fascinating event, as the young woman made a habit of such nocturnal outings. When one is engaging in a love affair with a man of whom one’s parents do not approve, daylight is not often seen by the couple. Even diurnal meetings must take place in secret corners or thickets surrounded by the protective shroud of a dense, dark forest.

  
  


But tonight was different, because tonight followed the biggest fight the girl had ever had with her parents. And she was not meeting with the stable boy for a mere assignation, but for a much more permanent arrangement. He slipped a ring on her finger, dropped a kiss on her lips, and they mounted two horses side-by-side (for although a single horse would make a better visual, it was not at all practical for carrying two fully grown humans and their belongings) and rode off to a neighboring kingdom where their marriage could be made permanent at the first opportunity.

  
  


Third, later in time but not quite back to the present, we must visit the sprawling home of a semi-reclusive baron. He was considered debonair and handsome by a certain crowd, but generally avoided by those who preferred intelligent, meaningful conversation over brooding handsomeness and self-important boasting.

  
  


Other than himself, this man loved only two things: beauty and wealth. One would lead to a curse, the other his ultimate downfall.

  
  


The problem was, of course, that the man did not _truly_ love either of those things, for they are relative states of being that by their very nature are impossible to love. But he held the concepts in such high esteem that over time, he developed that which such shallow, unhealthy obsessions often spawn: a hatred of their opposites.

  
  


One night, a woman showed up on his doorstep, but not a woman of the attractive sort the baron preferred. No, this woman with her crooked posture, unfortunate mole, and repulsive lack of teeth, did not fit his criteria for beauty in any way. She was, in fact, the antithesis of it personified. No matter that she was respectful and humble in her request for a night of shelter in exchange for a simple rose. He laughed in her face and slammed the door, abandoning her to the bitter cold without a second thought. In fact, his mind had moved on to the fact that none of his servants had been quick to answer the door, something that would need to be dealt with. He was a baron and should not have been reduced to dealing with such a disgusting creature on his own.

  
  


Now, that would have been the end of that, except for one thing.

  
  


The woman was not just any woman.

  
  


She was a witch who had disguised herself as a test, and the baron had not passed. She snapped a finger, and the door in front of her whipped open. Startled by the noise, the man turned and watched, mouth agape, as the witch morphed into her natural, lovely form. She stared into his eyes, past the confusion and sudden influx of lust, and examined his heart. What she saw was a cold, hard thing that held no care for any person other than himself. He prized only things he viewed as an extension of himself: wealth he could acquire, and beauty, not only of his own reflection, but also in the women he saw as objects to possess for their beauty alone.

  
  


She would craft the perfect punishment for his behavior, using his own weaknesses against him, and hopefully over time, he would learn a lesson.

  
  


She would not take away his money. Rather she would take away his method of acquiring more and hope he would develop an appreciation for what he had. Therefore, he would be confined to his home, where he kept his already rather massive amount of wealth. To keep himself (and others, though visitors were unlikely, as the baron was known for being quite mysterious and never inviting guests to his home) from admiring his beauty, she would weave a second layer into the curse. A mask, showing the head of a hideous beast, would be permanently affixed to his face.

  
  


Unless.

  
  


Unless the spell was broken.

  
  


For it could be broken one way and one way only.

  
  


For she knew in her heart of hearts, as all witches (and narrators) must, that True Love was the most powerful magic of all. And if he learned these lessons and was able to love another and be loved in return? The spell would be broken completely.

  
  


Yes.

  
  


The witch quickly ran over the plan she had concocted over the past ten seconds (for witches are known to be quick thinkers) and judged it satisfactory. She began to weave a curse of the strongest magic she possessed. Thankfully, this witch was in the habit of being prepared, and she never traveled anywhere without a couple newt eyes and chicken beaks concealed somewhere on her person. For this magic was potent stuff, requiring magical elements, correct cadence and pronunciation and order, precise hand motions, and exact lunar position. The witch took all of this in account, for she was quite the old hand at magic, and with a flourish and a final, booming word, she hurled the invisible ball of magic directly at the baron. A light flashed and a _crack_ tore through the air as the curse came to life and began to take effect. No more than five seconds later, the sound ceased and the curse was complete. The witch took one look at the beastly mask that adorned the baron’s face, gave a satisfied nod, snapped her fingers, and disappeared, leaving nothing but a rose in her wake.

  
  


Unfortunately, the witch, however well-intentioned, was not quite as on top of her game as she had assumed. She had mixed up her days a bit, so the moon wasn’t in _quite_ the place she’d thought. So instead of cursing the baron alone, she had also, quite unknowingly, cursed his entire household.

  
  


We have now arrived at the point where each of the three individual threads will soon intersect and begin to weave themselves together. And therein, dear reader, lies our story.

 

 


	2. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive response to the prologue! You're all lovely, and I appreciate every word and every kudos. I know this is a bit of an odd premise, but stick with me. I love BATB as much as the next person (if for no reason other than the library, I MEAN, COME ON <3 ) but there are a few underlying issues in the traditional tale I've always had a bit of a problem with. I wanted to tackle those and also write about awesome ladies falling in love, and this is what happened.
> 
> Alas, I missed my posting goal by a day, due to laptop trouble. But I'm back now! Hopefully I'll be able to keep to my Sunday posting schedule from now on. 
> 
> In other news, I *finally* got my bookmarks up and running and started a collection for all my SQ fic recs. Check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sqrecs) if you are so inclined, because Swen is, as we all know, hella talented.
> 
> Also, the ideas for the beast/household masks came from _A Court of Thorns and Roses_ by Sarah J. Maas.
> 
> I believe that is all I have to say. On with the fic!

If Princess Emma, Knight Prior of the White Kingdom, daughter of Queen Snow and King David, was known for one thing, it was her inability to keep still.

 

As a child, this had been her curse to bear. She had failed horrendously at most “princessy” endeavors, always running instead of walking, jiggling her leg impatiently when she was supposed to be sitting in silence, and playing games with the servants’ children when she should have been studying deportment. Now, with some years added and a certain amount of maturity developed (though not so much as to make her boring), Emma had learned to put that energy to good use as a knight. Whether in battle or in training, she was nearly indefatigable, outlasting the vast majority of both enemies and allies. With her boundless stamina, she was able to inspire and encourage all the knights she led to even greater heights.

 

It should also be noted that in addition to her incredible vitality, Princess Emma also had a bit of a savior complex, and the combination was rather dangerous. She tended to take the “honorable knight” cliché and embody it to the best of her ability. If there was a distress call, she was the first to notice and the first to ride to the rescue. Even if she lacked a plan or assistance. Somehow, though, it always seemed to work for her. She had rescued countless men, women, and children in this manner, not to mention a fair share of animals.

 

So when she heard the news that the guard from the Kingdom of Soporifia had brought, it was difficult for her to go to her parents when her first instinct was to ride immediately to the rescue.

 

But even Emma knew that this would be too much to take on alone.

 

At first, she could only get a few words out of the guard, as he bent over to catch his breath. “Princess Aurora...kidnapped...brigands...”

 

But it was enough to get the message across, enough for Emma’s feet to begin itching for her to move, to fight.

 

Instead, she found Mulan across the courtyard and gestured her nearer. As a Knight Lieutenant often found by Emma’s side, Mulan was invaluable when it came to planning and strategy, and she held a cool logic that helped to balance out Emma’s fiery impulsiveness. She thought of details no one else would, and she followed through with them to the letter.

 

The two of them listened as Le Fou, the guard, quickly told the story in full sentences.

 

As soon as he finished, Emma called for Lancelot, the knight with whom she’d been practicing her swordplay only moments earlier.

 

“Sir Lancelot, round up the other knight officers and tell each to select two knights from the ranks to take with them. Tell Sir Gus he will be accompanying me. Make sure to pack food for the journey, as I have no idea how long this mission will take us.”

 

(Indeed, if Princess Emma had known just how long she would spend on this particular mission, she likely would have packed more than just food. Alas, she did not have the benefit of a narrator at the time, though one really would have come in handy, if I do say so myself.)

 

Lancelot went to carry out her orders, and Emma and Mulan brought LeFou with them to the banquet hall, pausing briefly outside the door to check him for weapons. For even though Emma, with her excellent instincts, believed him, she would not let a strange man into the presence of the king and queen without first ensuring he was unarmed. He was, and they entered the room to find Emma’s parents sitting alongside her brother, Neal, eating their evening meal.

 

Her father started to raise a hand in greeting, but his expression quickly changed when he noticed her urgency and the fact that she was not alone. Turning to see what had caught David’s eye, Snow and Neal also regarded the trio curiously.

 

LeFou dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

 

“Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness.”

 

All three inclined their head toward him, accepting the deference, and Snow asked him to stand before turning to her daughter.

 

“What is it, Emma?”

 

She gave a brief explanation of the tale.

 

Princess Aurora of the Kingdom of Soporifia had been on her way to the White Castle, where they were expecting her the following morning. Her carriage had hit a large rock, concealed just around a sharp turn. The wheel had broken, and they had stopped to repair it. However, while two of the five knights had been distracted by mending the wheel, they had been ambushed by a group of outlaws.

 

The brigands outnumbered the guards and were ferocious in their quest for one thing: Princess Aurora.

 

“It was the worst moment of my life,” LeFou commented. “Watching her being dragged away by those men. Seeing two of my friends dead on the ground and not knowing where the others were. Even Gaston, our captain, was nowhere to be found. I knew I had to get help, but...I hated leaving her there. I hate knowing what she may be going through at this very moment.”

 

“You did the right thing,” David said nobly, pushing back his chair and standing. “You fought bravely to protect your princess, and you knew when to get help. And help we most definitely will. Most likely, she is unharmed. Kidnapping of royals is usually only done for the reward of the ransom money.”

 

“If we can find them-” Emma broke in.

 

“You may be able to rescue her before the outlaws have a chance to profit,” Snow finished for her, nodding in approval.

 

“Exactly.”

 

The next half hour was spent grilling LeFou for as many details as he could remember: their exact whereabouts during the attack, the number of attackers, the manner in which they conducted themselves. Were they an organized group, or was it every man for himself? Had they approached on horseback or hidden in the woods on foot?

 

He answered all the questions to the best of his ability, and the servants appeared with more food for LeFou, Emma, and Mulan to partake in while they discussed and outlined a strategy.

 

When the hour was up and they had a decent plan, her parents and brother wished them luck.

 

“I will send an emissary to the Soporifia at once and ask if they have heard anything,” Neal said.

 

“Will you stay with us, LeFou?” Snow asked. “Surely you cannot set out again already. You must be exhausted, and our finest knights will be riding to Aurora’s rescue.”

 

LeFou shook his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty, but I will not be able to rest until my princess is safe.”

 

Finally, there were farewells all around, and Emma felt the warm thrumming in her chest that always accompanied the beginning of significant quest.

 

She assembled with all of her Knight Lieutenants in the courtyard: Mulan, Lancelot, Tamara, August, and Baelfire. She gave a quick rundown of the details, and the group of knights in formation just beyond them listened, waiting for orders.

 

“Sir Baelfire, I need you to stay at the castle. Besides the royal family, you are the only one who knows our plans. Keep apprised of the situation and inform us of any crucial developments. Whether you choose to do so by messenger or by taking your squadron and following after us is up to your discretion. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head.

 

“Excellent.” Emma raised her voice so it could be heard by the others. “The rest of you? Follow me!”

 

A cry arose, and Emma led the party as they set off determinedly, hooves thundering. Thirteen of the finest knights in the kingdom, all eager to fight against these cowardly outlaws, as the stakes were high but the victory was almost assured.

 

Halfway to their destination, the group halted and made camp for the night, following the plan outlined by Princess Emma. It was dark, and they would be better equipped to deal with the outlaws when well-rested and, most importantly, in the daylight.

 

The next morning, they were on their way at first light. Once they neared the site of the attack, Emma commanded them all to halt and assemble for instructions.

 

“Listen up. We’ll split off into separate directions: north, south, east, and west. LeFou, you’ll go with Lancelot’s group. We will meet here again in two hours’ time. If you locate the princess or a suspicious group, make note of the location and whether they appear to be moving or getting ready to do so. Do _not_ get too close. They’ve already killed two trained men. We do not want to engage or make them aware of our presence until we are all together and ready to move.”

 

They all indicated that they understood, and Emma held up her sword.

 

“For Princess Aurora,” Emma said, and the others saluted and turned off in their assigned directions.

 

Emma herself used the reins to guide her horse toward the east and began moving, accompanied by Mulan and Gus. The sun was hot on the back of her neck, and the chain link metal sat heavily on her chest.

 

It should have been unpleasant, but it was one of her favorite feelings. Being on the move, having a purpose.

 

She took a swig from her water pouch, then tied it back to her belt. They moved together silently in a triangular formation with Emma at the front, all watching for tracks or signs of a scuffle.

 

They continued on this way and had just rotated positions a second time when Emma noticed a couple of suspicious, broken branches to their right. She stopped and pointed, moving closer to inspect them and checking with Mulan, who nodded in agreement with her unspoken assessment.

 

Yes, these were definitely tracks.

 

Keeping as quiet as possible, the three of them followed the trail. It was small, made by no more than one or two people, so it might not be what they were looking for at all. But it could belong to an injured guard. Or perhaps Princess Aurora had escaped and was hiding out in the woods. Emma had a good feeling about it, and that feeling only grew when the woods suddenly parted and revealed a large, gated manor.

 

Emma dismounted and signaled for the other two to stay put with her horse, concealed in the trees, while she moved to scout the location on foot.

 

There was a massive stone wall, at least seven feet tall, that seemed to surround the entire property, but she could still see the top of the house. It was a large dwelling, nearly large enough to be termed a castle. Certainly an estate of some kind. Emma had just turned around a corner to what appeared to be the back line of the property, where the branches of the forest trees were close enough they nearly brushed the wall, when she heard voices.

 

She flattened herself against the wall and stood still, listening.

 

“Ugh, what _is_ that?” came a woman’s voice from the other side, entirely too near for Emma’s comfort.

 

“Oh, hush and just step around it,” a second voice answered.

 

“Easy for you to say. I’m quite fond of these shoes.”

 

“Then why did you wear them?”

 

“When I dressed for the day, I was not preparing for an outdoor excursion. I am not an outdoor person. I’m meant to be indoors. It’s better for my complexion.”

 

A long-suffering sigh. “You know Zelena is ill.”

 

“Oh, how _could_ I have forgotten, Ursula? Hmph. ‘Ill,’ my eye. Lazing about the bed whining, more like. While _I_ am forced to traipse around picking herbs from the garden like a common fieldhand.”

 

“Yes, and perhaps if you would hurry up about it, we could be back to your precious indoors. Being out here always makes me immensely nervous.”

 

“What about that new girl?” the first voice continued, seemingly ignoring the second. “She just shows up all alone in the middle of the night expecting us to open our doors to her and wait on her hand and foot? She needs to start earning her keep around here, too.”

 

“She’s a _princess_ , Cru.” Emma brought a hand to cover her mouth. _Aurora_. “Well, if she is to be believed, that is. There. That one is rosemary.”

 

“Wonderful. Now, grab some, and we’ll be on our way.”

 

The second voice pitched up an octave, mocking. “’Why Ursula, I know you technically outrank me so I cannot give you orders, but as my friend, darling, would you mind picking these herbs for me?’”

 

“Yes, darling, that is exactly what I said.” The voices began fading away as the women - presumably servants - moved along. “You know what struck me?”

 

“What?”

 

“How odd it was to see someone with a face again.”

 

Emma frowned, confused. (For indeed, without the context you possess, dear reader, this is a very odd statement indeed.) Perhaps she had misheard them, for by this point, she could make out nothing more.

 

Now, we’ve arrived at a very key moment. For Emma _knew_ that she should go back and get Mulan and Gus before attempting to rescue Princess Aurora.

 

But as previously mentioned, Emma loved nothing better than a good rescue. And she would not be in any danger here. She merely needed to present herself to Aurora, accept her grateful surprise, and return her home.

 

She chewed on her lip, looking from the woods to the wall and back again.

 

Then she took a step in the direction of the front gate and did not pause again until she had reached it.

 

For a moment, she hesitated, fingers resting on the large iron gate, imagining Mulan’s disapproving stare, but instead, she decided to concentrate on the pleasant surprise that would be on her face when Emma appeared with the missing princess by her side.

 

She pushed it open.

 

The very moment she stepped foot inside, however, she was overcome with a revulsion so strong that she nearly backed out again.

 

Odd.

 

Emma gave her head a shake and proceeded forward to the massive front door.

 

She gave the knocker three firm bangs and stepped back, waiting for a response that would surely be imminent.

 

She waited.

 

And waited.

 

Just as Emma was about to open the door herself, it finally opened, held by a small boy in...a cobra mask?

 

Emma stared at him. Children were odd at times, and Emma was by no means an expert, but that seemed an exceptionally strange choice.

 

“Hello,” she greeted, cautiously.

 

“Hi. My name’s Henry. Are you a knight?”

 

“Hello, Henry. Yes, I am,” she said, choosing the simplest form of the truth for the moment. “I’m Emma. Is your mother or father home?”

 

“I don’t have a father. My mother is probably in the kitchens. She can’t hear the door in there. That is supposed to be Ursula’s job, but we never have any visitors, so she went outside to help Cruella.”

 

“Oh. Um, alright. You sound like you know quite a lot of things.”

 

Those eyes, wise beyond their (albeit, very small number of) years, stared back at her from tiny holes in the mask. He had a wide, adorable grin, that nearly made her forget about the slightly terrifying snake mask that adorned the upper half of his head.

 

“I know everything that happens here,” he said proudly.

 

“That is a very useful skill. Now, Henry, would you mind taking me to your mother? Or bringing her here? I really need to speak to someone.”

 

“Have you been kidnapped, too?”

 

Emma laughed. “No. But I’m here to rescue the girl who was.”

 

The boy’s face dropped instantly. “You can’t do that.”

 

Emma drew back. “Why not?”

 

Henry bit his lip, looking back over his shoulder. “He won’t like it.”

 

The sense of dread in the pit of her stomach that had abated suddenly returned full-force and grew stronger. She shouldn’t have come in alone. “Who won’t?”

 

“ _Henry._ ” A sharp voice came from Emma’s left, and she turned to find a woman standing there, garbed in a simple burgundy frock and an apron.

 

And a mask that covered the upper half of her face.

 

Only hers was not a cobra. Instead, it was jet black and feline in shape, the eye holes formed with a slight upward slant, revealing dark brown eyes that were locked suspiciously on Emma, even as she reached out a hand and beckoned the boy closer. “Come here.”

 

Maybe they were playing a game of some sort? Or they were preparing for a masked ball? The decorations adorning the foyer would certainly be appropriate for a celebration. Everything was incredibly ornate and expensive.

 

“Hello, you must be Henry’s mother.”

 

An inclination of the head was her only answer.

 

“Perhaps you can help me. I’m here to rescue Princess Aurora, and I’m under the impression she took shelter here last night? I very much appreciate that, and we would be happy to reward your generosity-”

 

“You need to leave.”

 

Emma paused. “Excuse me?”

 

“You should leave. Go and wait outside the gate. I’ll send the girl out to you.”

 

“I’m not sure-”

 

“Trust me.”

 

“Listen, lady. Princess Aurora is here, is she not?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And her kidnappers did not bring her here? She came here of her own free will?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“So she should be able to leave of it, as well.”

 

The woman stayed silent for a moment, considering, then replied. “It is complicated. There are things you don’t understand. I should be able to get her out soon, but she-”

 

“What do you mean, get her out?”

 

The woman sighed impatiently. “Look, Rapunzel-”

 

“My _name_ is Emma,” she said, annoyed. Her hair wasn’t _that_ long, and it was tied back sensibly, as any knight’s would be while on duty.

 

“Okay, Em _ma_. Like I stated before, you don’t know the situation you’ve walked into here, but it is a complicated one. Currently, you are in more danger than you understand. I need you to trust that we are on the same team and to do as I say.”

 

“See, I can’t do that. I don’t trust you not to bolt this door shut behind me if I leave, so I’m not going anywhere. If you need to fetch Princess Aurora, I can help you.”

 

The woman hissed through her teeth. “ _Fine_. You can help. But don’t blame me if he discovers you.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Emma said, patting the sword hanging at her side.

 

The woman shook her head. “Henry, go to the kitchens and stay there. Keep away from the fire, and don’t make any noise.”

 

“I don’t get to help with the rescue?”

 

“ _Now_.”

 

He complied but rolled his eyes behind the mask, and if the situation weren’t so serious - and, frankly, bloody _weird_ , so weird she could almost believe she was dreaming - Emma would have laughed.

 

Instead, she followed as the woman started down a long hall and produced a set of keys from her apron pocket.

 

They walked a ways in silence, then stopped in front of a nondescript door, which the woman unlocked. She gestured Emma closer, and Emma obeyed, listening as the woman started talking in just above a whisper. “She appeared here in the middle of the night last night, and the Master, he...he went a little insane, locking her up in the cellar. I brought her some blankets and soup, and one of of the maids is busy preparing her a room right now. I thought...I thought if I could convince him to treat her like a human, she might want- well, anyway. That’s all over now.”

 

Emma was almost overwhelmingly curious as to how she was going to finish that thought. Something strange was going on here. The masks, the secrecy. But her mission was to rescue Princess Aurora, and she was so close.

 

Perhaps after she returned the princess safely, she could bring a larger contingent of knights here and investigate what, exactly, was going on behind these walls. Because although this woman held a set of keys that kept another captive, she seemed more like a prisoner herself.

 

And who was this Master?

 

Emma trailed behind the woman as she descended the stairs into the cool, dank cellar. It was incredibly dark, the only light coming from the doorway at the top of the stairs, almost immediately swallowed by the blackness.

 

It was her sense of hearing more than sight that first pulled her eyes over to a secluded corner, near large outlines that appeared to be some sort of shelving.

 

Yes, there was a shape on the ground. A sleeping woman, curled up into a ball underneath a blanket. Emma knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, so she was able to see when Aurora opened her eyes.

 

“Shh,” Emma said in a whisper, holding her finger up to her lips. “I’m here to rescue you.”

 

Emma gestured to the knight outfit with the White Kingdom logo fashioned onto the front.

 

Aurora gasped, and it almost immediately turned into a chest-rattling cough.

 

“ _What the hell is going on here_?” a voice thundered, and Emma spun around, hand on her sword.

 

What she beheld made her blink and grasp the hilt more tightly.

 

A man stood at the top of the stairs, large and hulking, silhouetted by the light from the doorway. He was wearing a mask, but unlike Henry and his mother, his covered his entire face. It seemed to be a beast of some sort, a cross between a bear and a lion, perhaps.

 

Whatever it was, it was terrifying, as was the fact that a second inspection revealed a cutlass hanging off his belt on the right side.

 

But Emma had beheld terrifying creatures before. She just had to be smart about this.

 

Thankfully, our dear princess was very smart, indeed. Even if she _had_ failed to heed her own advice to avoid charging in on her own.

 

“Hello,” she said as calmly as she could, inclining her head in deferential greeting. “I’m Emma, a knight in the service of the White Kingdom. I’m here to see Princess Aurora safely to her destination. I appreciate your hospitality in her time of need, but I am under orders to take her with me now.”

 

The beastly man widened his stance. “She doesn’t leave,” he snarled. “ _You_ , however, can see yourself out. I have no need of you here.”

 

“I don’t think you understand. Princess Aurora is my responsibility, and she is expected at the White Castle.” Emma shifted over to place a hand on Aurora’s shoulder. In response, Aurora began hacking again, a wet sounding cough that made Emma want to flinch away from her. “And listen to her. She is also desperately in need of a physician.”

 

“What she _needs_ will be decided by me. Now, get out of my home before I need to take matters into my own hands.” He drew his his cutlass, and Emma held her hands up in response.

 

This situation was bordering on insane. The princess had escaped her kidnappers and sought shelter, but it appeared this man wanted to profit off of her instead. So much for the kindness of strangers.

 

“No need for that. I believe we can settle on an arrangement. How much do you need? We are prepared to pay.”

 

“As tempting as the offer is, I’m afraid I need the girl more than I need gold.”

 

Emma frowned. The man did not respond to authority, nor to bribery. She had her sword, yes. But his weapon was already drawn while hers was not, and he had the advantage in size, strength, and, most importantly, position. She was skilled with a sword, but she was not suicidal. To attempt to take this man on right now would mean certain death for herself and and who-knew-what for Aurora.

 

“Why do you need her?” Emma asked, more stalling for time than anything, while her mind whirred, trying to come up with a way to get Aurora safely out of this situation.

“That is none of your concern.”

 

“Do you have need of her long?”

 

“What kind of a question is that?”

 

“One that needs an answer.”

 

“Well...as you mention it, no. I only need her for a year.”

 

“Then take me instead,” Emma said, before she could convince herself otherwise. Still, she had to bite her tongue to resist the urge to take it back.

 

The man paused, truly taken aback for the first time in their conversation. “You wish to take her place?”

 

Emma’s stomach dropped, but she stood resolute. “I do. Let her go right this moment, and I will stay here in her place for one year.”

 

“Come into the light,” he said, backing a few feet out of the doorway. Emma moved until she was halfway up the staircase, then stopped, letting the light from the doorway shine on her.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Emma.”

 

The man looked her up and down, appraising slowly, and Emma’s skin crawled. Finally, he nodded.

 

“You’ll do. Yes, you’ll do nicely.”

 

He switched his cutlass to his left hand and stepped forward to offer her his right. She met the blue eyes behind his mask and tried not to shudder. His hand was perfectly human, but revulsion washed through her at his touch, and she broke away as soon as she could. She had to make an extreme mental effort to refrain from wiping off her hand where he’d touched.

 

“So be it.” He turned to Aurora. “You. Get out of my home before I change my mind and keep you both.” He whirled around and stalked away down the hall. Emma remained still for a moment and then jumped, feeling an icy cold hand on her arm. She turned to see Aurora grasping at her, a tear tracking down her pale face.

 

“Thank you for coming for me. I’m so, so sorry. I thought this place was safe...I thought-”

 

“It’s alright. You’ll be safe soon.”

 

The housekeeper spoke for the first time in several minutes, moving from her position next to the stairs, joining them in the hall just outside the doorway. “He means it. You should leave now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, “but do you by any chance have a piece of parchment I could borrow? I need to write a note, so my unit will know not to come looking for me.”

 

The woman pursed her lips but nodded. “I should have some in the kitchens.”

 

They followed after her, winding through the halls and into the kitchens. Emma looked around, but Henry was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Here,” the housekeeper said, holding out a quill and a scrap of parchment to Emma. She reached out and grabbed it, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

 

Emma began writing as quickly as she could, willing her hand to stay steady.

 

_Mulan,_

 

_This is Princess Aurora. I have taken her place here, where I will remain for one year. I am entrusting you with her safety. Your highest priority is to return her to the castle as soon as possible._

 

_If I do not return, remember that you get my favorite teapot._

 

_Emma_

 

It was a code they had established years prior, a safety measure that every royal family member had put in place. If she was in danger or had been coerced into writing the note, the last sentence would have contained “candelabra” instead. By using “teapot,” Mulan and the others would know that not only was the note authentic, Emma meant what she said in it.

 

She handed the note to Aurora, getting her first good look at the princess in decent lighting. She looked terrible, hair matted, face pale. Emma was glad she had arrived when she did, as well as for the fact that Mulan was nearby, ready to escort the woman to warmth and safety.

 

“Take this. Turn right outside the gate and go straight about a hundred paces. You’ll find two knights, a woman named Mulan and a man named Gus. Give them this. They will see you safely to the castle.”

 

Aurora looked hesitant.

 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t cost me a perfectly good rescue by attempting something noble, alright? You’re ill. I’m used to much worse conditions than this. So go now.”

 

Aurora nodded, thanked her again, turned, and ran down the corridor. Emma heard the front door slam.

 

It was oddly calming.

 

She had done it. It had come at a high price, but she’d done it.

 

Emma suddenly became aware that the housekeeper was staring at her. She met the woman’s eyes and was surprised when they seemed conflicted.

 

Why?

 

Emma was about to question the woman when she turned around and faced the opposite direction. Emma watched as she grabbed a potato from a stack nearby, found a knife on a nearby shelf, and began cutting the potato into small pieces. She finished one and moved onto another before she set the knife down and pressed both hands flat against the counter.

 

Still facing the wall, she spoke quickly and so quietly Emma barely heard her, the words strangled like she had to force them out.

 

“If you chase after her now, he won’t know. All you have to do is reach the woods. You’ll both be safe.”

 

Emma wasn’t quite sure why, but the first thought that jumped into her head in response was, _But you won’t be._

 

She knew it was true, that this woman would be blamed if Emma disappeared now, under her watch. And that thought was like a kick to the gut. Especially when she remembered the little boy, so young and guileless, the fear that had come into his eyes when he mentioned the mysterious Master.

 

Emma also knew that as soon as Princess Aurora was returned safely, there would be a group sent out after Emma, probably twice the size of the search party for Aurora. All she had to do was stay for two or three days, and she would be rescued. If she could do something in that time to help these people, she had to try. Still, the thought had her more nervous than she’d like to admit. This whole situation made her uncomfortable, living in a manor of secrets to which she was not privy.

 

“No, thanks,” Emma said, with a feigned indifference, and she wandered over to the counter and popped a piece of raw potato into her mouth.

 

The woman stared at Emma as she chewed and swallowed. The potato left a bitter, gritty aftertaste on her tongue.

 

“What kind of stupid savior complex do you have? Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

 

Emma laughed, and the sound was more rueful than amused.

 

“I have no idea.”

 


	3. Histories and Mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m pretending they have bathrooms in the EF. I mean, it is a magical land, okay, _someone_ had to have invented toilets already.

Reader, you may be wondering what, exactly, became of the girl who eloped with her lover in the beginning of the story. Who was she? Why did I find it necessary to include her?

 

Well, you see, that girl, whose named happened to be Regina, was a mere nineteen years of age when she left her old life behind. That night, she began chasing a new future of her own making, and she and Daniel, the stable boy, married the very next week. The four years that followed contained more happiness than all her previous years of life combined. This joy was expanded when they had a son, Henry, and their little home in a humble village of the kingdom of Soporifia was filled with even more love than before. So much love Regina had never dreamed it possible.

 

And then tragedy struck, as it is cruelly wont to do to those families that are the happiest.

 

A deadly sickness swept through the town. It claimed Daniel within two days, leaving Regina and Henry untouched physically, but with a hole in their lives that could not be filled.

 

The plague continued to rage, claiming the lives of neighbors, and Regina knew that she needed to leave, for Henry's sake. She would stay alive and keep him safe.

 

She hitched up their small wagon, loaded in two trunks, and held Henry as she drove away with tears tracking silently down her cheeks.

 

The stench of death and suffering was everywhere, and it took four days of riding before Regina stopped imagining she could still smell it in the air.

 

By that time, she had crossed into the White kingdom, a place she had never been before, though she knew her mother had been born there. She did not have a specific destination, her only criteria being safety and distance from her birth home. She would never be welcome there again after the way she had left. So Regina continued to follow the roads at random until she came across a tiny village.

 

Regina’s supply of gold was quickly dwindling, as she had to buy food for both herself and Henry. She could not stomach much, but he ate with the gusto of a growing two-year-old. And she could not keep traveling forever, placing Henry in a padded basket at her feet when her arms got tired.

 

“As well here as elsewhere, hmm, little prince?” Regina asked Henry, who babbled back at her.

 

She needed a place to live, which necessitated money, which necessitated a job.

 

Now, you have probably already guessed where I am going with this, reader, as you seem a rather intelligent individual. But I will proceed nonetheless.

 

She went to the local pub to purchase a midday meal and inquire about a server position. What she found instead was a hideously mannered man who leered at her breasts and said they had no openings downstairs in the tavern, but she was more than welcome to join the upstairs evening staff.

 

Fortunately, she also found a posting regarding a local manor in need of a housekeeper. Now, Regina had never kept a house larger than three rooms by herself, but she _had_ lived on a large estate for close to two decades. She had given instructions to a housekeeper and knew how a staff worked. Right there, Regina decided she would convince this Baron Jones to hire her on, no matter what it took.

 

Two days later, she and Henry moved their possessions into the Jones estate, of which Regina was officially the new housekeeper. She was in charge of the staff, which was quite small for a manor of such immense proportions. There were only five other members, other than herself.

 

She had detested the baron almost immediately, but he seemed the annoying but harmless sort of man she was used to dealing with, from her teenage years amongst the upper society in the kingdom of Midas. He had too much ego and too little care for anyone other than himself. However, he said himself he did not care to be involved in the running of the manor any more than necessary, he was willing to hire her with a child, and she knew from talking with the other staff that he was often gone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time.

 

So she accepted the position.

 

And time passed.

 

It passed quickly or slowly depending on the hour, but always painfully and always in a haze of grief that overwhelmed her at the most unpredictable times. When she opened the trunk and it still smelled like home, or when she stumbled across one of Daniel’s gloves in the bottom of the wagon.

 

But days turned into weeks, which became months, and eventually, she could see joy in things outside of Henry again.

 

She began to make friends with the maid, Marian. She did not spend much time with the other staff members, for they simply didn't mesh as well with her personality. She did take pity on a teenage runaway named Zelena who wandered across the manor one night, taking her in and hiring her on even though the Master was away and she did not have specific permission to do so.

 

But he never had a chance to approve or repeal her decision. The night after the Baron finally returned home, a witch arrived, a curse was cast, and everything changed while nothing changed at all.

 

More time passed.

 

Two years, to be exact. Two years almost to the day of the curse being cast, a princess showed up on their doorstep, followed mere hours later by a valiant (idiotically so, in Regina’s private estimation) knight. Two visitors in two years, and one stayed. One _chose_ to stay.

 

One who might be their only chance at freedom, for they only had a single year left before the curse hardened into a permanence that no magic in the universe could undo, and they would be stuck here forever.

 

But Princess Emma did not know any of this.

 

Indeed, she stood in the kitchen, staring at a mysterious woman in a jungle cat mask, and gave up her freedom to save her. Without knowing her true position, her story, or even her name.

 

“What’s your name?” Emma asked suddenly.

 

“Mrs. Mills.”

 

“You’re married?”

 

“I was, once.”

 

Emma winced.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry. Would it be- What is your first name? Would you prefer that I call you by that?”

 

“It's Regina, and thank you, but no. Mills is my maiden name, but it is it is customary to address the housekeeper with the married honorific. Now, let me add these potatoes to the soup, and we can take a short tour of the house.” Regina continued deftly adding the potatoes to the pot while she spoke, then made short work of the mess. “Marian was already preparing your room, so she should be finished by the time we make it up there. Your quarters will be on the third floor with the servants. Second floor is the master suite, study, and guest bedrooms. First is all the public areas, the ballroom, etcetera.”

 

She wiped her hands briskly on her apron and turned, beckoning.

 

“Now, follow me.”

 

Emma did, trailing after the woman yet again as she turned and exited out a different door than the one they had entered through the first time.

 

Emma found herself in what was obviously the dining room, on the opposite end of which stood a grandiose set of double doors. Regina gestured to them.

 

“The ballroom is through there, but it is rarely touched other than for cleaning. Through here,” she said, moving through a large connected hallway, “is the water closet, then the library is to your right, over there. There’s a second door, a bit farther down, directly underneath the east staircase. The door under the west staircase is a second entrance to the ballroom.”

 

They emerged from the hallway, directly between the two grand staircases in the foyer. “And we’re back at the entrance. There’s a sitting room right over there, and that is the basics of the first floor. The east wing of the second floor is also cleaned regularly, despite the fact that we obviously never have guests. By the Master’s command, the west wing of the second floor,” she continued, pointing emphatically to the staircase on Emma’s right, “is never to be entered. _Ever_. The Master’s valet is the only one allowed up there, and even he must only visit the bedroom, and only when summoned. You should never set foot beyond the first stair. Period. Understood?”

 

Emma was a mixture of disconcerted, terrified, and morbidly curious as to what on earth could possibly warrant shutting off an entire wing of a floor. But then again, the Master had not struck her as a logical sort of fellow, so maybe he merely enjoyed his privacy.

 

Or collecting the skulls of tiny animals and forming them into sculptures that he hid in darkened, dusty rooms.

 

It was definitely one or the other.

 

Regardless, she nodded, and Regina began leading her back through the hallway to the kitchens.

 

“Good. The third floor is exactly what you’d expect, servants’ quarters and storage and whatnot. You can only access it via the servants’ stairs in the kitchen. There is another set of servants’ stairs in the ballroom, but they are blockaded, as they go through the west wing.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

They climbed the narrow, wooden stairs - very different from the ornate staircases in the foyer, with their maroon carpet and smooth, mahogany banisters - and emerged onto the third floor. This floor, too, was bare. Everything was smaller than the first floor, and plainer. The walls were unpainted, though they appeared clean and sturdy. Regina walked along the corridor, pointing at each door on the right hand side as she passed them. “Jefferson. Cruella. Ursula. Marian. Myself and Henry. Zelena,” she paused at the end of the hallway, opening the last door. “You.”

 

Emma followed her into the room. It was small but clean, featuring a single window, plain white walls, and sparse furnishings. Aside from the narrow bed, the only piece of furniture was a plain bedside table with an oil lamp, small porcelain bowl and pitcher on top. The bed, however, sported obviously fresh linens, as well as a recently cut rose lying atop the pillow, and there was a colorful woven rug in the middle of the floor.

 

“The servants’ quarters are really meant to house two to a room, but as we run scarcely more than a skeleton staff here, everyone has their own. Decorate as you see fit.”

 

“Eh, I’m not much for decorations. As long as there’s a bed, I’m good. Nice touch with the rose, though.”

 

“Yes, Marian is thoughtful that way,” she said with a hint of a smile that intrigued Emma, then turned wry. “Although Zelena will probably murder her for touching her roses when she finds out. Anyway-”

 

She was cut off by the sudden appearance of the Master – though Emma had privately begun referring to him as the “Beast” in her head, not only due to the mask, but for the beastly, roaring temperament he displayed earlier – in the doorway, and it took every ounce of Emma’s training not to jump two feet in the air and draw her sword. Still, her heart thundered in her chest, recovering from the surprise, and she tried to reassure herself that she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had followed through on her word and stayed here.

 

But instead of the coldly calculating rage he had displayed earlier, the man was curiously calm. His cutlass still hung in a sheath at his side, but he smiled at Emma as he stepped further into the room.

 

“How do you find your accommodations?” he asked, as casually as if they were acquaintances discussing the weather instead of a captor and his captive.

 

It was thoroughly discomfiting.

 

“Fine, thank you,” Emma said carefully.

 

“Excellent. If you have need of anything, only let me know. The evening meal will be served in half an hour. I hope you’ll grace me with your presence?”

 

As much as Emma disliked the prospect of spending more time in this man’s company, the thought of food was enough to make her stomach rumble in anticipation. She had not eaten since a few bites at sunup, and her body was enthusiastically reminding her of the fact.

 

“Of course.”

 

He nodded and quit the room, followed a few seconds later by Regina, who paused at the door and peered at her curiously from behind her mask. But she said nothing, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

 

The theme continued throughout dinner, which was was an eerily silent affair, served to them by a woman named Cruella, who wore a dalmatian mask. Interestingly, her mask was not the first thing that drew Emma's eye. That honor went to the fact that her hair, cut in a short bob, was precisely half black and half white. The mask, oddly, seemed to complement it.

 

Emma let the Master take the first bite of the soup, and even after he had chewed and swallowed, she covertly sniffed her bowl and inspected it visually. There were, of course, many poisons that were impervious to detection, and she certainly was no expert. Nor would it make particular sense to poison her at this point. But it made her feel better, if only marginally.

 

The man did not speak at all during the meal. The only sounds were of soup slurping and the low din of constant conversation going on in the kitchens. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but Emma focused on her soup. She had eaten on battlefields and in many other less-than-pleasant situations. She might not know what was going to happen to her, but whatever it was, it would be easier to face with a full belly.

 

When he was finished with his soup, the Master set down his spoon. She met his eyes behind the mask, and they were unreadable. “It has been a long day, and I’m sure you have need of your rest. Join me for the morning meal tomorrow, and I will answer all the questions I'm sure you have about our situation.”

 

“Alright,” Emma agreed, and he shot her another smile that took away her remaining appetite.

 

Truth be told, it was his sudden _niceness_ that threw Emma off balance more than anything else. Anger, intimidation, threats, or even physical attacks, she could deal with. But she didn’t understand his play. What was his motivation for the sudden mood change? Why did he need her here? Was she merely to be a servant alongside the others? And what the _hell_ was the story behind the masks?

 

A few moments later, Cruella appeared to clear away their dishes, and Emma resisted the urge to ask for seconds. As soon as the woman disappeared back into the kitchens, the Master stood, clearing his throat.

 

“It has just occurred to me that we never had the chance for a proper introduction.”

 

Emma blinked, barely holding back a snort. Was he for _real_?

 

Somehow, she managed to maintain a straight face and nod, which appeared to satisfy him.

 

“I am Baron Killian Jones,” he said with a bow. She could not tell if it was intended to be mocking or deferential. “Welcome to my home, Your Highness.”

 

With that, he turned and walked away, and Emma stared at his back as he strode down the corridor and out of sight, her mind whirring.

 

Had he known from the beginning who she was?

 

Probably. It was not often that a princess was the Knight Prior of her kingdom.

 

Emma knew his name but could not recall his face, though they had likely met a time or two at court events. However, her knowledge of him was at the same level of her knowledge regarding most of the aristocracy of the White kingdom. Which was to say, limited, and based almost entirely on gossip. She knew that he was one of those men who liked alcohol, pretty women, and expensive, fashionable clothing. She also knew he had a reputation as somewhat of a mysterious recluse, as he disappeared without being heard from for months at a time, always causing a bit of a stir when he returned.

 

Somehow, he seemed to induce swoons from many of the women around her age. Emma didn't understand it at all.

 

(Although, to be fair, Emma was also exclusively attracted to other women, so that was likely a factor.)

 

Now that she thought about it, though, she could not remember the last time he had made one of his “returns.”

 

Emma sighed. Every answer only led to another question.

 

Sitting here and mulling over it wouldn't change anything, and it appeared she was not destined to learn anything more until morning.

 

Emma climbed to her feet and made her way through the kitchens in order to get to the servants' stairs, but she paused when she saw a table nearly full of people just finishing their meal. Mrs. Mills, Henry, and Cruella, she knew. But there were three more women she did not know. Presumably, one of them was the mysterious Marian of the bedroom rose, but she did not remember the other two names Regina had mentioned upstairs.

 

As though reading her thoughts, the housekeeper stood.

 

“Emma, meet the rest of the staff. You've already met Cruella,” she said, gesturing to the woman. “This is Ursula, Zelena, and Marian.”  
  


She pointed to each one in turn, and they all nodded politely but stared at her curiously from behind their various masks. Marian's was a swan and Zelena's was a monkey, but Ursula's was the most fascinating of the bunch, made of luminescent green scales, reminding Emma of some sort of sea creature.

 

It was an incredibly odd feeling, to be scrutinized so intensely by a group she did not know and could not read, due to their coverings.

 

Thankfully, the silence was broken by Henry, piping up from the far end of the table.

 

“Hi, Emma! Did you already get some soup?”

 

Emma smiled. “I did, thank you.”

 

“Good. It's my favorite.”

 

“It was very delicious.”

 

He returned to spooning said soup into his mouth, and Emma was once again fully aware of being the center of attention.

 

This was not a new feeling for her, as a leader and a royal, but the whole situation had her entirely off kilter, and she just wanted to be alone in her bedroom and able to sort all this out.

 

“If you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire for the night,” Emma said, and without waiting for a response, she headed to the staircase and ascended into the darkness.

 

When Emma reached her room, she lit the lamp and was surprised to find a simple sky blue frock lying on the edge of her bed, alongside a plain white nightgown. Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness, wondering if it was Mrs. Mills or Marian who had thought to provide them. She doubted it was any of the others.

 

Emma started to untie her gambeson, having already shed her chainmail before dinner. But she paused, looking again at the garments on her bed.

 

Perhaps she should go downstairs and thank whichever staff member was responsible. It was a nice gesture. Maybe acknowledging it would help get her onto their side. She only had a couple days to get information about the situation here, and she knew that the quickest way to find out the goings on was always the household staff. Plus, she had very little trust in the word of Baron Killian Jones.

 

Before she could second guess the plan, Emma crept back down the stairs, formulating her words in her mind.

 

She pulled the door open slightly, taking a breath, but paused when she realized the table was empty.

 

No, not empty.

 

One lone boy sat at the end, all alone, speaking to someone on the opposite end of the kitchen, out of Emma's line of sight.

 

“Dinner and a show, Mama. _Please_?” Emma grinned at the kid’s tone, not whining but giddy, sure he’d be victorious.

 

“You've already had dinner,”

 

“But I'm a growing boy. I need seconds.”

 

“Oh, all right.” Her tone was not at all the no-nonsense one she had used with Emma all day, but much softer, an obvious fondness there.

 

Emma caught herself half-smiling, but the expression froze on her face.

 

For what she beheld was not at all what a rational person would have expected.

 

The candelabra that sat in the middle of the table appeared to be...juggling? A cup, bowl, and spoon spun in a circle around it as the candelabra’s “arms” moved, throwing them into the air. Henry giggled, clapping. Then the silverware dropped to the table in front of Henry while the bowl floated over to the stove, where the soup dished itself out. Or rather, a ladle spooned it into the bowl, as though held by an invisible person, while the water pitcher poured its contents into the cup. When they were both full, they traveled back to the table and gently came to rest in front of the boy, who cheered again before digging into the soup with gusto.

 

Emma blinked, but the sight was still there. In fact, the candelabra bent in half, seemingly taking a bow.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” Regina said, her voice altered by its dramatic tone and (quite terrible) affected accent.

 

Emma blinked again. The candelabra once more sat innocently in the center of the table, and Emma kept her steps silent as she backed up the stairs.

 

There was no denying it: the housekeeper had magic.

 


	4. Ere Falls the Last Petal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apology a) for the delay! Crazy work schedule + life happenings + easily distracted muses, etc.

Emma hardly slept that night.

  


The fact that she was able to get even a few restless hours was thanks entirely to her training and experience as a knight. Learning to get sleep when one had the opportunity was absolutely essential, especially for a leader.

  


So eventually, she overcame the nonstop questions and quandaries her mind presented, and dozed, if fitfully, until dawn.

  


Emma rose with the sun, as she tended to do at home, though the rest of her family was rarely awake until hours later.

  


Something about the quiet of early mornings calmed Emma. She could wander the halls of the palace or the surrounding grounds virtually uninterrupted, as few aside from the servants were ever up that early.

  


So it was from habit that she yawned, stretched, and rolled over until her feet touched the floor. She had slept in the provided nightgown, but she quickly stripped out of it and gave herself a wipe down using the cloth and wash basin. Feeling slightly more refreshed, though still a bit groggy, Emma dressed in the new blue dress, which fit surprisingly well, though it was a bit loose in the chest area. She eyed her sword, but ultimately decided to leave it behind.

  


She made her way downstairs, and Regina - it was difficult to think of her as Mrs. Mills, for some reason - was already in the kitchens, as she’d suspected. She appeared to be coaxing the oven fire to life, feeding kindling bit by bit into the open mouth.

  


Emma wondered why she didn’t just light it with magic.

  


She turned to Emma, and it was difficult to read her with the mask, but Emma heard surprise in her tone when she commented, “You’re up early.”

  


“I like walking in the mornings. Clears my head.”

  


With that, she strode off, only pausing when she heard the housekeeper’s voice.

  
“You won’t-” The woman stopped, but Emma knew what she’d been about to say.

  


“I won’t run off, don’t worry.”

  


The other woman nodded, and Emma continued on her way, opening the front door and stepping outside, taking a big gulp of the fresh, cool air...and then she froze.

  


As it happened, leaving wouldn’t even be a possibility.

  


Because at some point during the night while she had slept, the front gates had been closed...and chained shut.

  


A chain of thick, black iron wound its way around the midpoint where the two swinging gates met. It was wrapped multiple times and held in place by a huge padlock.

  


A chill began to permeate Emma’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. She had never been a fan of being in small spaces or being enclosed in any way. It was part of the reason she enjoyed being outdoors so much, free to move about. She disliked being still, being trapped.

  


And here, she was both.

  


A walk had lost its appeal entirely, but Emma still forced herself to walk around the perimeter of the house, taking stock of her situation. It was large, though it had only three escapes other than windows. There was the main entrance, a back servants’ entrance that opened into the kitchens, and on the west side, a large set of glass doors that opened onto a fancy stone porch, directly from what appeared to be the ballroom.

  


The property line was, however, entirely encircled by the large stone walls she’d observed the day before.

  


Emma began to investigate, but the second she stepped away from the perimeter of the home, she was overcome by that same sudden, odd dread as yesterday when she had first pushed through the gate. Something about being in this courtyard made her nervous, but she would press on. Impending rescue or not, she would not be trapped without an exit, even one she had no intention of using short of emergency.

  


But if there _were_ an emergency, she would not be trapped like an animal stupid enough to let itself be contained, and lay complacent, awaiting the closure of the wolf’s jaws around its throat.

  


No.

  


The walls were well crafted, with no crevices to use for a foothold. She was aware there were probably small spikes along the top, as was customary for protective property walls, but she would risk a few scrapes for her potential freedom. If she had a tall enough object, she would be able to pull herself over. She scanned the surrounding yard for one but found nothing. They had no horses, which would have been perfect. The only animals appeared to be chickens back in the far east corner, near the gardens.

  


The gardens held another surprising sight, as she could see a person with bright red hair working in the soil. Zelena.

  


Emma was glad Zelena did not acknowledge her, however, as she didn’t really know what she would say. Usual morning pleasantries weren’t exactly sitting well at the moment.

  


Emma moved along. The only trees on the property were too far from the walls to be of any help. There was a stump near the woodpile against the east side of the manor, but it was still rooted in the ground. Emma continued her quest until she came across a large wheelbarrow, behind the chicken coop. Emma eyed the object, then the walls again, then nodded in satisfaction. If she turned the thing upside down, she would be able to stand on it. That would give her enough of a height boost that she would be able to escape.

  


Breathing a little better, the chill of dread caught fire until anger was roiling in her stomach.

  


Emma glanced up at the position of the sun and estimated it was likely close to time for the morning meal.

  


_Good_.

  


For once, she was almost looking forward to seeing the Baron.

  


Emma clenched her teeth and stomped back to the manor.

  


##

  


By the time breakfast was announced, Emma’s temper had cooled. She was still livid, but she knew better than to confront the man who currently held the power over her, especially when said man seemed to have a fondness for walking around with a cutlass. She had done some investigating in the storage room in the servants’ quarters and found a sturdy pair of sewing shears, which she had concealed in the pocket of her gown. It was not her sword, but it was something.

  


The Baron appeared just after she did, prowling in and scanning the room. The mask stopped just above his lips, which allowed Emma to see his small smile of greeting, and, more practically, she supposed, allowed him to eat. But the sides curved down again obscuring the lower half of his cheeks, so the only portion of his face she could see was his mouth, a small strip of chin, and his eyes.

  


Honestly, she wished she couldn’t see those at all. She wasn’t sure what to make of the expression in them as he came forward and sat down at the head of the table.

  


“I wanted to begin this morning with an apology for my actions of yesterday. I...had not dealt with company in a long time, but even so, my behavior was unforgivable. I think we should begin with a fresh start this morning. With manners and honesty, and you as my guest. What do you say?”

  


He stared down the table at her with what she supposed was supposed to be an earnest expression, and Emma almost recoiled. His apology was so scripted, she didn’t even need her preternatural ability to discern lies to sense the mound of horse manure he was trying to throw her way.

  


Let me pause a moment to explain here, reader. Emma had a...well, a _gift_ was how she usually referred to it, even though it was sometimes more of an annoyance than a help.

  


She could tell when people were lying.

  


Now, how could that be annoying, you ask?

  


The problem with her ability was not that it only worked sporadically, but that it worked constantly and with stunning accuracy.

  


The issue was with people.

  


If you are at all aware of the world, you know that the vast majority of people - even good people - are dishonest quite frequently. Not necessarily for malevolent reasons. In fact, they might not even know they’re doing it. They might be in denial, refusing to admit the truth even to themselves. They might be telling white lies out of flattery, necessary lies out of a sense of duty or protection. Half truths to soften blows, embellished stories to heighten the entertainment of the listener.

  


And Emma could sense them all, but with absolutely no differentiation. She relied on context clues and her ability to read people. Truthfully, she mostly ignored it. However, there were times when it was a blessing, and this was one of them.

  


Because something was going on here. Emma _knew_ she should go along with it, with him, to potentially figure it out. But her anger boiled to the surface again, and she could not quite contain it. A guest, indeed. A _guest_ he felt the need to imprison with chains.

  


“Your _guest_?” she said, with slightly more sarcasm than intended.

  


He didn’t seem to sense it - or pretended not to - as his mouth curved up into an inviting smile. “Yes.”

  


“And the chains on the front gate?”

  


He leaned back, resting his head against the ornate seat.

  


“Ah, yes. Call that a...precautionary measure.”

  


“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t leave,” Emma said, more offended than she probably should have been, for someone fairly certain of an upcoming rescue. But still. That was slightly different, and furthermore, under ordinary circumstances, she _never_ would have broken an oath.

  


“I know better than to take the word of a woman. Even a princess. No offense,” he said with a grin that he probably thought was adorably sheepish, but really only made Emma want to slug him.

  


(It was not an unmerited response, quite honestly. I was rooting for it myself, but the princess unfortunately managed to contain herself.)

  


Emma grit her teeth. “Do you always insult your guests and lock them up like prisoners?”

  


“Well, I _could_ throw you back in the cellar, should you insist on behaving like a prisoner,” he said, drawing his cutlass, and contemplating it, running a finger over the tip before sliding it back in its holster. He turned back to her, and his former grin held terrifying edge. “But I am hoping you will be my guest.”

  


Emma felt a chill go over her. She smiled.

  


“I apologize,” she said, nearly choking on the insincerity of her words. “I spoke out of turn. I don’t care for enclosed spaces, and being locked in makes me nervous.”

  


“Well, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

  


“What if...what if there’s a fire?”

  


“There wouldn’t be. My servants are much too careful for that. Besides, the property is large enough to stay safely back, and I have the key to the lock. So you would not be confined to the grounds in that case. You would be safe. Now, however, we have arrived at the predicament I promised to discuss this very morning. Because while _you_ would be safe, the rest of us on the property would not be.”

  


Emma frowned. “Why is that?”

  


“Because of the curse.”

  


Then, reader, he told her the entire story of the night the curse had been cast and the repercussions thereof...with a few minor adjustments, of course. In his version, the woman showed up and cursed him the moment he opened the door for her, with no cause whatsoever.

  


From there, he was honest about the details, at least. The masks, the inability to venture beyond the property line, the length of time since the curse. Two years had passed since that night, and only one remained until it would be permanent.

  


“How do you know?” Emma asked.

  


“The rose she left behind was enchanted; it has stayed alive ever since. On the stem, it has a poem engraved:

  


‘ _To break an eternal curse_

_is a formidable act of mettle._

_Delay not, for the task_

_must be complete ere falls the last petal.’_

  


The rose had twelve petals when she left it, and it sheds one every solstice and equinox. Eight are gone. Only four remain.”

  


“So...you want my help? I don’t know anything about breaking curses.”

  


“In a manner of speaking.”

  


Emma refrained from narrowing her eyes. He was clearly keeping something from her, something important. A thought occurred to her, and Emma straightened, startled.

  


“You don’t need me for a virgin sacrifice or something, right? Because I should warn you right now that I’m not. A virgin, that is.”

  


A small cough sounded from the corner by the kitchen door, and the housekeeper appeared to clear their dirty dishes. Her face was impassive - though it seemed that was her permanent expression - but Emma flushed nonetheless.

  


Not only because of the last bit of her statement the woman surely would have heard, but because her frock was identical to the one Emma was wearing, save that it was a soft grey instead of blue. Emma’s eyes fell to Regina’s chest, suddenly aware of the fact she filled the bodice out perfectly, soft curves pushing as they should against the fabric. It contrasted with the slightly, well, _poofy_ fit of Emma’s.

  


And then she realized she was leering at the woman’s chest like an uncouth teenager and busied herself by taking a drink and avoiding the housekeeper’s gaze.

  


While “couthness” was not exactly one of Emma’s strongest traits, she certainly did not go around staring at every pair of nice breasts that crossed her path.

  


Finally, she left, and Emma could breathe again. _Idiot_.

  


“I have no intention of harming you in any way,” the Baron said, picking up the awkward thread of their last conversation with ease, and Emma’s gift did not sense any deception in the direct statement at all.

  


_Odd_.

  


Reassuring, though.

  


“But I do need your help. As you might have noticed during your tour yesterday, I have a very extensive library. Well, my father did before me, and I inherited it when he died. Regardless, the books are mine now. And there are many. From what I have worked out so far, the curse needs an outsider in order to be broken, though I am unclear on the details as of yet. I would like you to join me every day while we work this out. Two hours between the morning and noon meal should suffice.”

  


Emma blanched inwardly. So much for hoping she could just...go slay some monster he’d been keeping hidden up in the west wing or something, setting them all free.

  


No, this was going to be a long-term endeavor if she chose to stay.

  


_If_. She bit her lip.

  


“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

  


While that may have been a bit of a stretch - she would not choose to be in his company for any longer than absolutely necessary - she truly did want to help. Something else was going on here; he had not told her the full truth, of that she was almost certain.

  


She needed to talk to Regina.

  


##

  


An opportunity presented itself right before noon. The morning had passed interminably slowly in the library. Emma had always had slight vision problems, needing the aid of spectacles to read, especially for an extended period of time. Unfortunately, her spectacles were at the palace, and almost two solid hours of reading left her with a splitting headache.

  


And she had not even found anything useful.

  


Books, it turned out, took a _really_ long time to muddle through, and they were not always informative.

  


Oddly, the Baron had not talked at all, though she had caught him staring at her a couple times, and her skin positively crawled.

  


She shook off the feeling now, taking a drink of water and willing her headache to subside. She closed her eyes and rolled her neck a couple of times, and the pain lessened to a more manageable level.

  


She found Regina alone in the kitchens, preparing the midday meal.

  


“Regina.”

  


The woman did not turn away from the counter when she answered.

  


“I thought I asked you to address me as-”

  


“Right, Mrs. Mills. Apologies.”

  


“What can I do for you?” she asked, chopping away.

  


“Tell me something.”

  


“What do you need?”

  


“Did you cast this curse?” Emma asked directly.

  


For the first time, Emma saw the woman truly surprised. The knife she’d been holding clattered to the counter, next to a half-chopped carrot, and as she spun around to make eye contact.

“What on earth-?”

  


“The Baron told me all about the curse. And I know you have magic,” Emma blurted. “Last night, I came downstairs to thank whichever of you lent me that dress - and thank you, by the way - but I saw...um. You and Henry were in the kitchen, and the candelabra and the dishes...?”

  


Comprehension flashed behind the mask. “Ah. And you think this means I cast a curse that hurt several people including my own son?”

  


Her voice was flat, and her eyes looked...hurt?

  


God, of course she was hurt. Emma might not mean anything to her, but she had still just suggested the woman had cursed her own child to a life of exile, where he’d never know children his own age, never even see his own face.

  


“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Honestly.” Regina continued to listen, so she pressed on. “I didn’t think it was you. I have...a sense for these things? I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. But if I’m going to trust you, I needed to know for sure.”

  


“Trust me with what?” Regina asked warily.

  


“You’re trapped here too, right? The witch cursed the Baron, but it also affects all of you.”

  


“Yes.”

  


“What happens if you try to leave? Is it like...an invisible fence, or something? Do you just bounce right back?”

  


Regina sighed, the bottom half of her face as inscrutable as her eyes. “We die.”

  


Emma blinked and suddenly thought she might be choking. Something was constricting her throat. “Are you sure? It’s not just...a scare tactic? Not that you would want to test it-”

  


“Someone did. Our gardener. He lasted three months before he insisted that he had to try to get us help. Thirty seconds passed before he dropped dead on the road, right in front of us.”

  


Emma stared at her.

  


“I’m so sorry.”

  


“We all told him it was foolish. Each one of us had already stepped outside once before, aside from Henry. It’s like putting your lungs and heart into a vice and squeezing. There was no way anyone could survive it for more than a few seconds.”

  


“So...you’re just stuck here.”

  


“Yes.” Regina turned and stared out the window. “Until eventually, we die.”

  


“Why don’t you do something about it? You have magic, right?”

  


Regina snorted. “I have magic, yes. Technically. But it is enough to do parlor tricks and not much more, I’m afraid. My mother tried to teach me, once upon a time, but even she finally admitted that my talent was sadly limited. Regardless, I _did_ try. In those first few months, I tried everything I could think of. I even took nearly all my savings and sent for a powerful sorceress who was once an associate of my mother’s. She couldn’t help. She said there was only the one way, and that she could do nothing.”

  


Emma’s eyes widened.

  


“If I could ask a favor of you?” Regina began.

  


Emma nodded.

  


“Please do not tell the Master. The other servants know, because you can only keep secrets so long when you’re living and working in close quarters. But he doesn’t. And I do not want him to.”

  


“Of course.”

  


The house keeper stared at her, assessing for a moment before nodding. “I appreciate that.”

  


“Yes, well. I’m not sure yet how much I trust him.”

  


“And yet you’re willing to stay?”

  


“That depends somewhat on you, actually.”

  


Regina tilted her head to the side, a curiously feline gesture that matched her mask.

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“When I sent Mulan and Aurora away, I wasn’t necessarily committing to staying here. I’m a...very important person in this kingdom, and I know they will send a rescue party for me. But I might turn it down.”

  


The other woman just peered at her. “Why in the name of the Enchanted Forest would you do that?”

 

“I just...I have a feeling.”

  


“You’re risking your life. For a _feeling_.”

  


“I know it sounds insane, but I have really great instincts. They almost never steer me wrong.”

  


“ _Almost_.”

  


Emma ignored her.

  


“Besides, it isn’t _my_ life that’s at stake right now. It’s yours and everyone else here,” she continued, almost more to herself than to Regina. She got more excited as she went on, pacing back and forth through the room, running a hand through her hair. “It would only be a year for me, less if we manage to break it. The kingdom is at peace right now, with no problems brewing. We’re on good terms with all the surrounding kingdoms. It is the perfect time for me to be gone. And what kind of knight would I be if I walked away from you? How could I pretend to have a single shred of honor?”

  


And right there, Emma saw the most beautiful sight.

  


She looked into Regina’s dark, dark brown eyes behind the mysterious black mask...and she saw the smallest kindling of hope.

  


Regina blinked, and it was gone with a little shake of her head, but that flash had already ignited a matching spark deep inside Emma’s soul.

  


“But what does this have to do with me? If you’ve decided to stay and...try to save us, then your time would be better spent with the Master. He did tell you-”

  


“Oh, yes, he told me everything, and we’ll be meeting together every morning. But given the lack of progress we made this morning, I honestly don’t see that going anywhere.”

  


A strange, small smile appeared on Regina’s lips, as if she were privately amused. “Honestly, I can’t say I am surprised.”

  


Emma didn’t understand the joke. “Why is that?”

  


“Well, you’re...smart and pretty and clearly doing well in life. And he is...not the most tolerable of people.”

  


“Ugh, _yes,_ ” Emma complained, skipping over the odd compliments which she did now know how to address, glad to finally have an outlet for her increasingly negative feelings toward Baron Jones. “He told me to my face this morning that the word of a woman means nothing to him. Bastard. Odd that his staff is comprised of so many, then.”

  


“Yes, well, we never had as demanding a job as other households this size, even before the curse. I believe he hired all of us as further decorations for his home. We were the same to him as the velvet curtains or that carving in the ballroom.”

  


“Are you all women?”

  


“Yes, other than his valet, Jefferson. But he did not take well to imprisonment. Other than aiding the master in the mornings, he sequesters himself in his quarters and does nothing but make hats, day after day. He is convinced that the right hat will serve as a portal that will allow us to escape. It’s very sad, really,” Regina said, shaking her head.

  


“That’s terrible.”

  


“Yes. I hope that one day when we escape, the return to reality will be helpful for him.”

  


“To that end, what do you say? Will you help me?”

  


“You...you truly think there might be another way?”

  


“I don’t know,” Emma said honestly. “I hope there is. I’m willing to stay and try.”

  


Finally, Regina nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it. But again, I’m warning you: I don’t have enough magic to do much of anything.”

  


Emma chewed the inside of her lip and took a deep breath.

  


“That’s okay. Because I think I might have magic, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apology b) for all the Hook. Future chapters will have more SQ, I swear!


	5. One Day Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very little Hook in this chapter. Sorry, Mari, you’ll have to get your CS fix elsewhere. :P

Emma held her breath, hardly believing she had actually, finally let those words escape her lips for the first time in her life.

  


_I think I might have magic, too._

  


She felt a bit reckless, sharing the sensitive information with a woman who was little more than a stranger. Regina was by no means the first magically talented individual she’d come across. Many sorceresses and fairies liked to gift the royal family with performances or enchantments from time to time, to keep on their good side. But this wasn’t only about Emma and her possible, mysterious powers. This was for the greater good.

  


“What do you mean?” Regina asked, her eyes wary behind the mask. “You aren’t sure?”

  


“It isn’t...much. It took me a long time to even realize it, actually, because of- well, how I was raised. I was given everything I needed and nearly everything I wanted. But sometimes I’ll need something and it will just...happen. Not all the time. In fact, it’s pretty rare. But it does happen. I once lifted an ogre off a child’s broken leg. By myself. And one time, I dropped my shield on the battlefield, and there was this giant of a man coming at me with a mace. I was two seconds from death and reached for my shield, when suddenly, it was in my hand, even though it had been at least six feet away. There’s no way I could’ve gotten it otherwise. Just...little things like that. I tried a couple basic spells I found in a book once, but nothing happened, so it’s just-” Emma stopped, suddenly shy. “I’ve never told anyone this before.”

  


Regina did not appear to know quite how to respond.

  


Which was fair, as Emma hadn’t known how to tell her, and she did not really know what reaction she was expecting now that she had.

  


“Huh,” is what finally emerged from the housekeeper’s mouth.

  


“Precisely.”

  


“So you have some sort of...wish-granting magic?”

  


“I suppose so, yes. I had never really thought of it like that. The only downside is that I can’t really choose when it happens. Every so often, it just...does.”

  


Regina pondered this for a while, and Emma just stood there, tapping her foot on the ground until the other woman frowned down at the offending appendage, so then she stopped.

  


“So it has happened on multiple occasions, but you can’t control it?”

  


“Exactly.”

  


“Hmm.”

  


“Do you think it could be helpful?”

  


Regina pressed her lips together for a moment. “I’m not certain. On one hand, it seems promising, especially if I, or someone more powerful, were able to... _enhance_ your magic somehow.” She frowned. “But if you can’t control it, there wouldn’t be much of a point.”

  


“I could try. I never really even put it together until a few years ago, and I’ve never put much effort into it. I didn’t know _how_.”

  


Regina tapped a finger on the counter contemplatively, and Emma felt a perverse need to frown at it the way she had at Emma’s foot only moments ago. But she resisted. That probably wouldn’t be a great way to stay on the woman’s good side.

  


Finally, Regina said, “I don’t really know much by way of instruction. However, I do know that magic is tethered to emotion. Yours seems to be triggered in particular by adrenaline, going by the examples you’ve given me. So try to think of an exciting or frightening experience you’ve had. Really focus on your emotions and how you felt at the time. Try to recreate it. Use that feeling and channel it into a simple wish. For instance, try to summon that candelabra. ”

  


“Right now?” Emma shifted uncomfortably, eying the candelabra sitting in the middle of the table. The same one that had juggled Henry’s dishes at Regina’s command.

  


“I’ll turn away if that makes you more comfortable. I need to finish preparations anyway.”

  


“Thanks.”

  


Alas, this experiment did not prove any more fruitful than any of Emma’s previous attempts to recreate her magical talent.

  


The only other advice Regina gave her was to use different types of events as motivation, and practice with smaller objects, such as coins, at first.

  


Until Emma could control what exactly she was wishing for, she would not be much of a help.

  


But Emma was nothing if not determined.

  


It also occurred to her that at some point, she would likely need to tell Regina about her lying gift. Emma had not intentionally hidden it from her, but out of habit, she was accustomed to keeping it a closely guarded secret. From a young age, her family had insisted she not tell any but the most trusted individuals. If her gift became common knowledge, she would be the target of many powerful people who thought she could be a useful tool to possess. By the time she had grown into an adult, Emma had seen the wisdom of such an approach. The other factor was that she did not consider the gift particularly magical, had spent most of her life merely thinking of it as a heightened sense of perception. Just a gift in the way some people had a talent for storytelling or playing musical instruments. Even if it was magical, Emma still did not think it would be particularly relevant to curse breaking, but Regina might know something she didn’t.

  


##

  


The next day, Emma’s rescue party arrived as she had predicted, and she was waiting for them at the gate. It was still chained, which did nothing to help Emma convince her father to leave her behind. It took every bit of persuasive skill she possessed to get him to come around.

  


“These are members of your kingdom. Of _our_ kingdom. They are in danger, and I can help. I _have_ to do this.”

  


Now, reader, the King did not fully agree with her, and quite honestly, I could see you siding with him on the issue. But you must know as he did that Emma was a very intelligent woman, but she also had her own unique perspective on things at times. And once she reached this level of determination, she became something akin to an unstoppable force. So he chose not to attempt to stop her.

  


Finally, they agreed on a compromise.

  


Emma would stay the entire year - or however long it took to complete her mission - but a White knight would meet her at the manor’s gate at midday every Monday. If she failed to appear before sundown, it would be taken as a sign that something was amiss, and she would be summarily rescued, despite her wishes to the contrary. It would also be a way for the outside world to communicate with her and vice versa. If the kingdom was in peril and her presence was absolutely required, she would go. But only then.

  


The Baron took her continued presence in stride, though he nearly bit her head off when she suggested bringing in a magic expert to help them.

  


“ _No one_ _else,_ ” he snarled, eyes flashing at her behind the beastly mask. “You may stay here, but you alone.”

  


“But they could-”

  


“You wish for more people to witness my humiliation? To make me into the laughingstock of the kingdom? I said _no_.”

  


Emma decided not to press the issue.

  


After all, Regina had already contacted someone much more skilled with magic than they, and she had not known what to do. It was doubtful another would. Besides, Emma could always write to one for advice, passing notes to the whichever knight visited her every week. The Baron would never have to know.

  


She would have to keep that in mind once she had a little more of an idea of what, exactly, she would need.

  


##

  


Unfortunately, after a fairly uneventful week, she was still no closer to knowing what to write to this hypothetical, helpful sorceress. Her magic sessions with Regina were as fruitless as her “research” sessions with the Baron.

  


While he had left her to her own devices on the first day, in the following mornings, fortune had not so blessed her. For someone who wanted to find one particular cure for a very intimidating spell, he spent very little of their research time working. Every day, he attempted to make conversation with her for longer and longer periods of time.

  


Emma was experienced at making small talk; one really could not be a princess without it, even a princess who preferred to spend her time dressed in chain mail.

  


Emma attempted to keep patient and humor him. After all, he was sure to be lonely, as he seemed the type of aristocratic snob to consider his servants to be so far below him that he would not deign to consider them company. More importantly, the mood of the entire house was dependent on him. When she made him angry enough that he growled and stomped about the house in a snit, the staff had to behave as though they were walking on eggshells. Everyone was much more comfortable when he was in a better mood, though thankfully he rarely ventured out of the west wing regardless.

  


But patience could only do so much when one’s conversation partner’s idea of a quality talk was so lacking.

  


Unfortunately, today, the Baron spent the first hour talking, and it was one of his abhorrent rants about the inferiority of the lower class. He seemed to relish the topic, as it was one he mentioned frequently when they were alone in the library.

  


She preferred it when he rambled on incessantly about himself. At least that was easy to tune out, and it gave her a reprieve from reading, which helped with her headaches. But grinding her teeth to keep from rebutting his blatantly offensive comments was causing her headache to grow in intensity before she had even read a single sentence.

  


By the time the Baron finally left for the west wing, Emma’s temples were throbbing so intensely she was nearly seeing spots.

  


Some days were worse than others, and this was a particularly bad day. Emma knew from experience that once a headache reached this level, there was nothing to do but lay down and wait for it to subside. She needed to make her way to her quarters.

  


She was just working her way up to moving when the door to the library pushed open.

  


“Emma!” Henry exclaimed, and his voice sounded extra squeaky to her sensitive ears. She tried not to wince.

  


“Hello, Henry.”

  


“I love the library. But Mama says I can only come in here with another adult. You are an adult, right?”

  


Emma managed a weak smile. “I am, indeed.”

  


“Could you read me a story?”

  


Gods, why was the kid so cute? After a week, she had overcome being put off by his repulsive mask. It was an odd choice, because everyone else’s mask seemed to fit them in a strange way. Henry’s did not. He was the sweetest kid. A little manipulative from what she could tell, but what child wasn’t? He was adorable, and his eyes shone up at her, and even though the thought of reading more made her want to run for the hills, she found herself agreeing.

  


She read him two short stories from a collection of child’s tales he pulled off the bottom shelf, then sent him off to go play elsewhere.

  


Emma closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushions, debating the merits of taking a nap here and now. No. She could make it to her room before she collapsed, surely. She would much prefer to be there, where she could discard her gambeson and sleep without worrying about being interrupted. After a few moments spent gathering motivation, she stood and began her trek.

  


She paused in the kitchens to get herself a drink of water, as that sometimes provided a bit of relief. She sat down at the table and slowly downed the glass, but to no avail. She laid her head down on the table and groaned quietly, the thought of tramping up all those stairs in her current condition making her want to weep.

  


“Emma? Is something the matter?”

  


Emma jerked back up to a sitting position, the sudden movement jarring her already throbbing head, and she winced.

  


She smiled lethargically, grateful the intruder was only Regina. While she was still not entirely sure where she stood with the woman, she felt more comfortable with her than she did any of the others, even Marian with her perpetually friendly manner. “Just a headache.”

  


“Henry just told me you were reading to him in the library. I wanted to come thank you. I really appreciate you humoring him, although you should never feel like you have to.”

  


“It was no trouble. He’s a great boy.”

  


Regina smiled gently, and Emma’s head hurt so severely that she couldn’t even enjoy it.

  


“Well, I am certainly fond of him.”

  


Emma brought a hand up to rub the spot between her eyes, and Regina’s smile turned into a frown.

  


“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but...well. My father used to get headaches. I learned to give him massages for it. He said it worked wonders. Would you like me to try for you?”

  


“Oh.” Emma was terrible at accepting help normally, but her head ached _so much_ and her bed was _so far away_. “If you- If you truly wouldn’t mind?”

  


“Of course.”

  


The woman moved to rinse her hands in the kitchen basin, then dried them on the corner of her apron.

  


“Should I stand? Sit?” Emma asked, still sitting at the bench of the kitchen table.

  


“Just as you are is perfect.”

  


Emma was tense, waiting for the first press of her hands, sure it would make the problem worse.

  


But Regina’s hands, calloused and work roughened, were gentle as a butterfly landing on her neck at first. She barely even felt them. Then the pressure slowly and subtly increased, until Regina’s fingers dug in small circles. They moved down to her shoulders briefly, then worked their way up to the base of her skull.

  


Eventually, Emma stopped keeping track of exactly what her fingers were doing and just relaxed, letting Regina’s fingers move about. She roved all around Emma’s head, then took a brief pause to grab Emma’s hands and press on a certain point a few times, which, oddly, seemed to help the pain even more than the massage.

  


Regina moved back to her neck, and Emma began to feel drowsy as Regina’s fingers continued working their magic.

  


Was she using _actual_ magic?

  


Emma could not bring herself to mind. Whatever it was, it was effective, and slowly, the stabbing ache abated until it was almost nothing.

  


Eventually, Regina pulled back.

  


“How is that?”

  


Emma could hardly formulate coherent words, her arms atop the table and her head resting on them. “Splendid,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “How did you _do_ that?”

  


“Many hours of practice.”

  


“Well,” Emma sat up, making sure to establish direct eye contact to convey her sincerity. “Thank you.”

  


“Anytime,” Regina answered, waving her off and disappearing down to the cellar.

  


When she came back, Emma was standing in the middle of the kitchens, hands already washed, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. “What can I help with?”

  


“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine.”

  


“No, really-”

  


“No, you’re a guest-”

  


Emma shot her a look. “Please don’t give me that. You’re not him.”

  


Regina nodded, begrudgingly. “But still, you’re a _princess_.”

  


Emma shook her head. “Not while I’m here. While I’m here, I’m just a knight, doing her duty. You’ve helped me by making me feel human again, and now I want to return the favor.”

  


Regina sighed. “Alright. I will have quite a few parsnips that need to be cut up for dinner.”

  


“Wonderful. Just point me in the right direction.”

  


Regina peered at her. “Do you even know how to prepare a meal?”

  


Emma placed a hand to her heart. “Dear lady, I am insulted!”

  


“’Tis a valid question.”

  


Emma laughed. “ _Yes_ , Regina,” she said, the name slipping out, and for the first time, the woman did not correct her. “I do have basic life skills. I might not be able to prepare a gourmet feast without assistance, but I can certainly chop parsnips to your liking.”

  


“I don’t know, I have rather high standards,” Regina said with a small grin. “But you’re welcome to try to meet them.”

  


“Challenge accepted,” Emma said, feeling rather too giddy for her current age and situation.

  


“Excellent. Then go out to the garden and fetch the parsnips from Zelena. Tell her we’ll need six.”

  


“Yes, my lady,” Emma said, bowing with a flourish, and she swept out the door and possibly thought about that half smile on Regina’s face as she walked the path to the garden. Emma had found herself thinking about the woman more often than she probably should over the past couple days. It was only natural, after all. She had a lovely smile and deep eyes, and apparently she had also been hiding a sense of humor until today.

  


“More important matters,” Emma muttered to herself. She may have been able to mix work and play in the past - if the occasional woman liked to show physical affection after being rescued, who was she to stop them? - but this situation was much more complicated than a simple swoop-in-and-rescue. And, well, Emma was an adult, and this certainly wasn’t the first time she had ever been attracted to a woman she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t dwell on it; that was not her way. She could simply admit her attraction to Regina and move right along with her life.

  


Emma nodded to herself, resolved, just as she reached Zelena kneeling in the far corner of the garden.

  


“Good afternoon, Zelena. I need-”

  


The teenager did not look up from her place on the ground with the...Emma wasn’t quite sure what these plants were, honestly. Parsnips, maybe?

  


(They were most certainly _not_ parsnips, reader. The princess had many strengths, but gardening was not one of them.)

  


Regardless, they held Zelena’s full attention, and she held up a single hand to cut off Emma mid-sentence.

  


Emma felt a little bit of hot temper rise at that, but she pushed it back down.

  


Finally, Zelena left off with the plants, giving one of them a gentle pat before she said,“There you are, my pretties,” and climbed to her feet and gave Emma an expectant glance.

  


That slight bit of resentment turned to amusement in an instant, but Emma kept it firmly hidden behind an impassive face.

  


“I need parsnips. For Reg- um, Mrs. Mills.”

  


“How many?”

  


“Six.”

  


“Stay here,” Zelena said, her surly expression never changing, striding over to the opposite corner of the garden. She returned a few moments later with an armful of parsnips covered in dirt.

  


Emma thanked her, but Zelena only sighed and turned back to her plants.

  


Emma still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the girl, but she shrugged and made her way back to the kitchens. When she arrived, Cruella was there, leaning against one counter and watching Regina.

  


“Here you are,” Emma said, entering and setting the parsnips on the counter. Regina set her up with all the utensils she would need, and Emma began preparations.

  


“So, do you do all the cooking?” Emma asked.

  


“More or less. I originally hired Zelena as a scullery maid, actually, but since she took over the garden, she doesn’t really have the time. She puts so much into it.”

  


“Yes, she certainly seems...invested.”

  


Cruella snorted from her corner. “Just a bit.”

  


“She might be a bit enthusiastic, but she’s coaxed more out of that garden than I would have believed possible,” Regina said, sounding every bit like a protective older sister. “She has quite the green thumb.”

  


“I'm surprised she isn't green from head to toe, to be honest," Cruella added, and Emma laughed.

  
They were silent for a while after that, and eventually, Cruella grew bored of them and left, presumably to find Ursula, who was usually her preferred company. Emma rarely saw them apart. They had even been together the first time she’d heard them, out in the gardens.

  


Which reminded her...

  


“I noticed something odd today.”

  


“Oh?”

  


“When I was outside. I realized I felt normal. Which wouldn’t be a realization, except...for my first few days here, it was the oddest thing, but every time I stepped outdoors, I got this _feeling_. Like I shouldn’t be there, or something bad would happen.”

  


“Ah,” Regina commented, nodding. “Yes, that’s my repelling spell.”

  


“Wait, what?”

  


“Or, a very watered down version of one, really.”

  


“Sorry, I’m still confused,” Emma said, a frown pulling at her lips.

  


“It is extremely weak, and it wears off after a few exposures. For one, I’m not strong enough to cast a spell that potent. For another, I didn’t want to repel _everyone_. Curse, person needed to break it, etcetera.”

  


“Why do it at all, then?”

  


“We used to have more livestock. We had nearly twice as many chickens as we have now. We had goats, horses. A pig. But poachers came and made off with nearly all of it.”

“Ahh.” Suddenly it made sense.

  


“We couldn’t afford to lose the remaining animals, so I decided a repelling spell would be the best course of action, Still, the only meat we had for a year was wild quail I managed to kill by myself. I never thought I would become proficient with a bow and arrow, but, well,” she shrugged. “needs must.”

  


Emma blinked in surprise.

  


“You can shoot?”

  


“Quite well at this point, yes.”

  


“Do you think you could teach me?”

  


That got Regina to look up and meet her eye. “Teach you? You’re a knight, and you don’t know how to use a bow and arrow?”

  


“Oh, I know _how_. I just don’t like it.”

  


“Then why would you need me? I can’t just _give_ you enjoyment of something you dislike.”

  


“I didn’t know this request was going to lead to an interrogation. I thought I was a _guest_ , and you were supposed to see to my every whim.”

  
“Yes, well, you’re the one who insisted I do no such thing.”

  


“Damn.”

  


There was that half smile again, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Like a mirage.

  


“Alright, confession. I don’t actually hate it. I am just not good at it.”

  


“That’s all?”

  


“I was bested in an archery tournament.”

  


“That doesn’t sound so terrible. You don’t have to be the best at everything, Emma.”

  


“By my mother.”

  


Regina let out a short, surprised bark of laughter. “Oh. I see.”

  


“It was humiliating.”

  


“Well, we can’t have _that_.”

  


Regina was smiling at her, fully, if a bit wryly, and Emma felt a matching grin spread across her face.

  


“Exactly.”

  


“So I guess I’ll have to agree. One day soon, I’ll show you some bow and arrow techniques.”

  


Emma nodded, watching as Regina turned back to the food. “One day soon.”

 


	6. New And a Bit Alarming

_Soon_ , it turned out, was a relative term.

  


Weeks passed, one after the other, and Emma met with a White knight at the front gate every Monday. Emma had assumed Mulan would be the one to pick up this duty, but it turned out to be Tamara instead, whom Emma was always happy to see. Although Tamara’s no-nonsense nature did not make her the most popular of Emma’s Knight Lieutenants, it did make her one of the most effective. According to Tamara, Mulan was acting as Aurora’s personal guard while she stayed in the kingdom, rarely ever leaving her side.

  


Emma sympathized, as she assumed Aurora probably wasn’t enthusiastic about venturing out beyond the castle walls after her attempted abduction and subsequent captivity. Mulan was likely bored beyond belief.

  


Or perhaps Emma was just projecting.

  


She had only been at the manor for a month, and she was longing to escape. Not even necessarily to _leave_ , but to be able to take a walk in the woods outside of the walls or go on a picnic with Regina and Henry or venture out to the tavern with Mulan and Lancelot, then return for dinner.

  


Regardless, none of this was possible, and her days were already beginning to blur into each other with only the regular visit from Tamara to mark each passing week.

  


Unfailingly, she spent her mornings with the Baron, usually in the library. Other than that, Emma only had so much to occupy her time. She practiced her swordplay, ran laps around the property, and played Knights and Ogres with Henry (as the taller one, she had been relegated permanently to the role of ogre, despite her protests that as a _real_ knight, she could bring a sense of authenticity to the role. To which Henry replied, “I don’t know that word, but I will slay you, foul ogre!” and Emma had to run from his blunt wooden sword). There was, of course, the constant need to attempt to get her “wish magic” to work, but she could only stare at a coin wishing for it to move for so long. And thus far, it had been entirely unsuccessful, which was not precisely keeping her motivated.

  


More and more often, when she was bored or restless, Emma found herself venturing into the kitchens, where she could nearly always find Regina. Preparing three full meals each day for the entire household took the majority of Regina’s time, despite the fact that it was ostensibly her secondary duty, after overseeing the other staff members. She seemed to have it under control - and often protested as much, in the beginning - but she ceased objecting once she realized Emma’s offers of help were genuine (even if they _occasionally_ resulted in more work rather than less, like the time Emma accidentally burnt the entire batch of biscuits). She even started smiling more often, even when Henry wasn’t in the room.

  


One afternoon, Emma clomped into the kitchens on her way upstairs after a good hour running sword drills, dripping sweat and desperately in need of cool water and a change of clothes.

  


Instead of finding Regina alone as she had expected, she found both Regina and Marian, and Regina was... _laughing_? Laughing so hard she was bent a bit at the waist, hand pressed to her stomach. Marian was chuckling as well, but Emma was captivated by the other woman.

  


It was the most beautiful sight Emma had ever seen, and she was slightly envious that _she_ hadn’t been the one to reduce Regina to a state of such utter mirth.

  


Which was a ridiculous feeling, and she shook it off as soon as it arrived. She certainly did not want to be Regina’s only friend; she was happy that Regina and Marian had each other for support and friendship.

  


Emma moved further into the room, and Marian noticed her and beckoned her over. “Emma! Hello. Finish your drills for the day?”

  


“I did,” Emma said, tapping her sword in its hilt at her side, feeling the pleasant burning of the muscles in her arms.

  


“Would you like to hear the story?”

  


“It certainly sounds like a good one, so I think I’d better,” Emma grinned, striding forward to join them.

“I don’t think I can hear it again,” Regina said, a bit breathlessly, dabbing at her eyes with her apron.

  


“Then go slice your carrots,” Marian said, waving her away, then turned back to Emma. “So, Zelena and Cruella had another altercation this morning...”

  


She continued the story, which eventually involved Zelena dumping a bucket of water over Cruella’s head.

  


Emma chortled at the visual, but Marian held up her hand.

  


“Wait, I’m not finished. See, it wasn’t even one of the house buckets. It was the one Zelena keeps over by the chicken coop, to collect rainwater for the crops. So it was less ‘water’ and more ‘a combination of water, mud, and chicken droppings.’ Cruella was not pleased.”

  


“Oh!” Emma winced, laughing. “I’d imagine not.”

  


Marian giggled along with her while Regina let out a dramatic sigh from the other side of the room.

  


“I’m glad you all are amused,” she said, like she hadn’t just been doubled over a minute before. “ _I_ am the one who is going to have to reprimand her while somehow keeping a straight face. All she is going to say is that Cruella is intolerable.”

  


Emma pressed her lips together and met Marian’s gaze across the table, whose eyes were still full of mirth. “Well, she isn’t precisely _wrong_.”

  


Regina huffed out a laugh. “I know she isn’t. Which is why I’ll only be speaking to her sternly instead of attempting some sort of punishment. I know she’s only eighteen, but she needs to get a bit more of a rein on that temper of hers.”

  


“Says you,” Marian said, raising an eyebrow, and Regina’s mouth dropped open.

  


“Excuse you! I do not have a temper.”

  


“Yes, you’re right. How _could_ I have been so mistaken?” she said with a healthy dose of sarcasm, and Emma had to stifle another laugh.

  


“See? Even Emma agrees with me, and she has an outsider’s perspective,” Marian said smugly.

  


Emma raised her hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

  


“Good choice,” Regina said, tossing a faux serious glare her way.

  


“I do have a bit of an odd question, though. Related to Cruella.”

  


“Yes?” Regina asked.

  


“What, exactly, do Cruella and Ursula _do_ here? Besides standing around and making witty commentary, I mean.”

  


“Witty is a matter of opinion,” Marian muttered.

  


“Technically,” Regina answered. “Ursula is the butler, and Cruella is an attendant.”

  


“Which means?”

  


“Which means they do what I tell them to and not a bit more.”

  


“Ah.”

  


“Cruella is actually amazing with animals. She used to be in charge of seeing to the horses, but since the poachers, I rarely see her outdoors at all.”

  


“I see. Well, that is one mystery solved, anyway,” Emma said, standing. “Speaking of poachers, I believe you still owe me an archery lesson.”

  


“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten.”

  


Emma had a sudden burst of inspiration. “I can always offer you sword lessons in return.”

  


“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Regina replied dryly, without turning around.

  


“It’s more fun than it looks.” Emma hesitated, then continued. “Okay, that’s not entirely true. It’s a lot harder than it looks. But it is _also_ fun, once you get past the first few days where your arm wants to fall off.”

  


Regina snickered and looked back at her. “I’ll think about it. You make it sound so appealing, after all.”

  


“That’s all I ask,” Emma said, grinning. “Now, I must bid you ladies farewell and go make myself presentable for dinner.”

  


She waved goodbye, and Regina gave her a farewell nod, but Marian said nothing, her gaze bouncing back and forth from Regina to Emma, her expression unfathomable.

  


##

  


Emma continued her habit of disappearing into the kitchens on a fairly regular basis, which was how the day came the following week when the Baron wandered into the room, only to find Emma in an apron, attempting to pluck a chicken, covered nearly head to toe in feathers.

  


And while Regina was amused (if a bit exasperated) by the sight and had given up pretending otherwise, the Baron was livid.

  


“What the devil is going on here?”

  


“I offered to help with dinner,” Emma volunteered, grimacing. “Sorry I’ve made a mess, but I’ll clean it up,”

  


He barely even seemed to notice Emma had spoken, all his attention on Regina.

  


“Is this how you treat my guest of honor? The _princess_ of the kingdom? By putting her to work doing the duty of a _scullery maid_?”

  


Emma frowned and moved in front of Regina, “I offered! I was bored, and I had never done it before-”

  


“Then she never should have accepted your offer!” His gaze moved over her shoulder to Regina. “This may have been done in whatever savage kingdom you originally hail from, but here, this behavior is unacceptable.”

  


He spun around, gesturing to Emma over his shoulder. “Come with me.”

  


Emma paused, looking down at her feathered attire, and the Baron followed her gaze, his frown pulling harder.

  


“Take that filthy thing off. Leave it on the floor.”

  


Emma followed his instructions, and he continued. “Regina, I assume you might be able to talk one of the _actual servants_ into cleaning that up and finishing the job?”

  


“Yes, Master,” she said, bowing her head.

  


“Be grateful of our current circumstances, or you would be out of my house before sunset.”

  


Regina inclined her head again, her gaze on the floor, and Emma had to clench her teeth to keep from making the situation worse.

  


“Follow me, Emma,” the Baron said, and she trailed after him toward the foyer.

  


“I must apologize for my staff. They seem to have forgotten their place-”

  


“So she should have directly disobeyed her princess?” Emma asked, her words barely coated steel. Normally she played along with the Baron’s whims, but the way he had treated Regina made her stomach roil, and _this_ she could defend.

  


The Baron looked chagrined. Or at least, she thought he might. It was difficult to tell from only the eyes and mouth.

  


“Not at all, Your Highness. Of course not,” he stumbled, before recovering his normally suave manner. “I believe much of this is my fault. I allowed them to place you in the servants’ quarters, which I never would have done had I been thinking clearly. From now on, I insist you stay in one of the guest suites in the east wing of the second floor.”

  


“I am really fine where I am-”

  


“Nonsense! One of the things I appreciate about you is that you are so humble, despite your station,” he said, coming to a halt in front of the stairs and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It is a wonderful quality in a woman. But I insist. It is no trouble at all to move you, and you will be much more comfortable there.”

  


Emma resisted the urge to fling the Baron’s hand off her shoulder, instead pulling back under the guise of moving eagerly up the stairs toward the east wing.

  


They reached the top, and the Baron gestured down the hall.

  


“You may have your pick. I will have Ursula summon Cruella and Marian to move your things.”

  


He disappeared back down the stairs, and Emma stared after him for a moment, then looked down the long corridor. The left side was lined with windows, but the right side had four doors, spaced far apart. She had helped Marian with her cleaning duties a couple times, when the jobs were larger, such as the ballroom or the giant foyer. But she had never been up here. These rooms were much more sizable than the servants’ quarters.

  


Emma pushed open the door to the first room, and her eyebrows rose in surprise. In direct contrast to the starkness of her upstairs room, this one was nearly as ornate as the foyer. A large four-poster dominated the room, but there was a fireplace, beautiful mahogany furniture, curtains, and color. So much color, rich shades of blue, from a pale robin’s egg to a dark indigo. It looked like a suite for a princess, and she did not want it at all.

  


She wanted to stay upstairs where she could sometimes hear Cruella and Ursula bickering down the hall, where she could hear faint snores at night that she was fairly certain belonged to Regina, although the other woman would never admit it.

  


More importantly, where she would not be alone on a floor without another living soul on it, much closer to the Baron than she had been on the third floor.

  


Emma took a brief tour of the other rooms on the floor, and they all displayed the same level of opulence, with varying color schemes. Emma preferred the blue, and she liked the fact that the first room was closest to the stairs. Emma was not afraid of the Baron, per se, but she had also come to the conclusion over the past month that she absolutely did not trust him.

  


While he was honest with her about some things, Emma became more and more convinced he was keeping something from her. When she confronted him about it, he skirted the issue with half-truths that were as frustrating as they were effective.

  


Emma wanted to see the rose for herself, but the Baron did not agree. He kept it hidden away in a secret place, he said, so it would not be lost or damaged.

  


“It is my only hope,” he said, and Emma argued that was all the more reason she should see it. Alas, the Baron was firm.

  


Emma _did_ ask Regina and Marian about it, though, and they both confirmed its existence.

  


“It does exist,” Regina said. “I saw it, that first night. And again, the first and second time it lost a petal. He brought it out for inspection. But after that, I haven’t seen it again. I only know it keeps losing petals because every time the seasons change, he rages about the house for a day, and no one speaks to him unless they want to be attacked.”

  


“Did it really have an engraving on the stem?”

  


“Yes, on both sides,” Marian said.

  


“A poem,” Regina added, and Emma nodded.

  


“Yes, ‘ere falls the last petal,’ and whatnot, right?”

  


Regina nodded and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what on earth that witch was thinking. If she really did this for a reason, or if she just wanted to make a show.”

  


Regina and Marian had sad, sad eyes behind their masks, silently ruminating on the point, and Emma’s heart ached.

  


Emma still had not seen the rose, and now here she was yielding to the Baron yet again. She looked around her new surroundings and sighed, running a hand across the down mattress.

  


She _was_ going to enjoy sleeping on a soft bed again; there was no denying that. It was a small comfort, at least.

  


Soon, Marian and Cruella arrived with her belongings and helped her put them away. There were not many. Emma only had three outfits: two borrowed dresses - one from Regina, the other from Marian - and her gambeson and breeches. Other than that, she had her sword, her water pouch, a couple of trinkets Henry had given her, and the notes she had taken over the past month.

  


Once she was alone in the room again, she shuffled her notes around, looking for fresh inspiration somewhere in the pages covered in her large, untidy scrawl.

  


Thus far, Emma had only found two potential curse-breaking methods, and both of them had failed.

  


The first had been a relatively boring, repetitive affair that had required much more time with the Baron than she preferred.

  


Fortunately, she had needed no one else for the second, as it was a specific dance that could only be performed by “the outsider,” according to the book, meaning Emma.

  


_Unfortunately_ , it had to take place outdoors at sunset, which had left her in full view of anyone watching. In this case, “anyone” turned out to be Henry, Zelena, Marian, and Regina. Henry had giggled while Zelena smirked, Marian covered her mouth discreetly with her hand, and Regina pretended to shell peas (a task she usually completed indoors, and precisely no one believed her excuse of wanting to take in the beautiful weather).

  


Regardless, it was not a success, even when Emma tried it a second and third time, and finally, she gave up and decided to search for the next possibility.

  


There was, of course, the ever-present True Love’s Kiss, which was mentioned often enough in all the magical tomes to develop a mythical quality, and about which Emma was, quite frankly, rather dubious. Love, she believed in, absolutely; she was not so jaded as that. But True Love with all its purported magical qualities? That, she doubted. According to the Blue Fairy, her parents shared True Love, but rainbows certainly didn’t spring to life around them every time they kissed, breaking every curse and curing every ill within a two mile radius. True Love might exist, but its ability to break any curse had to be a myth, and one that was quite annoyingly pervasive.

  


To be frank, even if it were true, Emma rather doubted that the Baron could ever overcome his massive pride enough to love someone, and she had equal doubts regarding how anyone could fall in love with him.

  


Emma’s stomach growled, and she frowned, pushing the notes aside.

  


Someday soon, she would convince the Baron to show her the rose. Surely there would be some hint that could help them all out of this situation. Until then, she would keep trying every method she could.

  


##

  


Late that evening, Emma sat at the table in the kitchens and closed her eyes in concentration, trying desperately to _want_ this coin to move across the table toward her. It was only a small object, no more than a foot away from her. If she concentrated hard enough, surely she could manage it. Emma stared at the coin like it was the only thing in the universe, focusing on how she felt that time she’d seen the child trapped underneath the slain ogre, the way she had felt that sudden burst, allowing her to lift a burden that should have required at least four strong adults.

  


She was focusing so intently that she did not notice another person entering the room behind her.

  


Now, reader, you will not be surprised to learn that Regina was _not_ one for pranks. She did not see the point in them, and what she was about to do would never have even occurred to her under normal circumstances. But what she _did_ know was that Emma needed a breakthrough, and this was the perfect opportunity. If Emma needed to be startled into an adrenaline rush in order to jumpstart her magical abilities, Regina could help. Before she could second guess her plan, Regina tip-toed until she was directly behind the other woman, then she grabbed her lightly by the shoulders, simultaneously exclaiming, “ _Emma_!”

  


Unfortunately, Regina forgot to take into account the fact that Emma was also a battle-trained knight with excellent reflexes.

  


And Emma’s reflexes were on point.

  


Emma did not even have time to process what was happening. She heard a loud noise, felt someone grabbing her from behind, and her brain shouted _AMBUSH FROM THE REAR!_ Drill after drill having instilled responses into her so natural they felt like breathing, Emma immediately fell into the default counter for such an attack. She jumped up and whirled around, twisting the assailant’s weapon arm - or the arm that _would_ have been holding a weapon, had she been a potential assassin, as Emma’s training had postulated - behind her, trapping it against her back and rendering it useless.

  


Emma was about to proceed with the next steps of the counterattack - elbow to the jaw, twist assailant to floor, then run or go on the offensive, depending on the circumstances - when three things suddenly became clear all at once. One, this was not an assassin; it was only Regina. Two, her front was pressed against Regina’s. Thoroughly. And three, she was probably hurting Regina by twisting her arm like this.

  


She dropped the appendage like a flaming hot poker, concern for Regina taking precedence over everything else.

  


“Oh gods, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?” Emma moved back half a step, allowing enough room to open between their bodies that she could gently grasp Regina’s arm and examine it. She held it steady in one hand while she ran the fingers of her other lightly across it from wrist to elbow. If Emma were a physician, maybe that would tell her something, but she was not. Slowly she realized this, stopping the movement and just cradling Regina’s arm in her hands. She moved her eyes up to Regina’s, questioning, as she had not yet answered Emma’s question.

  


But the sight before her pushed the arm out of Emma’s mind entirely.

  


Regina’s breathing was still heightened, a dull flush staining her cheeks just under where her mask ended. She couldn’t read Regina’s eyes at all, but they were open wide, dark, so dark behind her mask, and her breath puffed against Emma’s lips. This drew Emma’s eyes down to her mouth, slightly parted, and a desire to kiss her slammed into Emma so intensely she nearly stopped breathing.

  


_Gods_.

  


Her whole body felt utterly incendiary, as if the slightest movement would send her up in flames. She could still feel the phantom presence of Regina’s curves pressed against her, and it would only take a small shift to bring them together again-

  


But then Emma blinked and realized that Regina was not overcome with desire like she was. She was probably only startled out of her wits after Emma had practically attacked her.

  


Emma stepped back immediately, dropping Regina’s arm and swallowing, willing her heartbeat to subside.

  


"Are you alright?"

  


She watched as Regina took a deep breath and righted herself, tugging on her bodice and skirts as if they had come askew over the course of their interaction.

  


"Of course. No harm done."

  


"I'm so sorr-"

  


Regina held up a hand. “No need to apologize. It was entirely my fault, and _I_ am sorry. You had said before that it was only in intense situations that your magic would work. I thought that perhaps a surprise might yield the same result. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  


She turned away, disappearing up the servants’ stairs, and Emma had to bite back the urge to call after her.

  


##

  


Late the next morning, Emma was in the library with the Baron. It was not a particularly good morning. The sun hadn’t been seen for two days, a constant downpour cooping everyone up in the manor. The Baron was in a bad mood, and nearly everyone in the castle was either complaining or sulking.

  


Emma found herself more annoyed with the Baron than usual, which was why she forgot to do the pressure point exercises Regina had showed her. So now she was sitting alone on the sofa with a headache and thirty more minutes until she was free from his irritating presence.

  


If only she had her spectacles; they would make her life so much easier. Emma absently wished for them as she closed her eyes for a moment, rubbed her temples, and focused once more on the passage in front of her.

  


_Emotions can affect the magical gift in many ways. Often, they act as a strengthening agent, but the extent to which this is possible depends on each individual, their particular brand of magic, and the emotion itself. For instance, if a magic user is afraid, her magic might grow stronger but less reliable in accuracy._

  


Just like that, Emma’s mind was wandering away from the text on the page and back to the incident the night before where Regina had attempted to instigate her magic. Fear clearly was not a strong enough motivator for Emma. Although, to be fair, she had been less afraid than surprised for a split second, followed by...well, a blur of feelings and sensations. The pure adrenaline rushing through her muscles, driving her actions. The panic at the thought that she might have accidentally hurt Regina. The way she couldn't breathe when she met the housekeeper's gaze. 

  


For just a moment, Emma allowed herself to contemplate what might have happened if she hadn’t stepped away immediately. If she had, instead, stepped forward. If the flush on Regina’s face had been less surprise and more lust. If she had been able to lean in and press their lips together, feel that shooting heat down her spine as Regina melted into the kiss and pressed closer. If Emma had drawn back and smiled and Regina had smiled back and made something jump in Emma’s stomach like a twitterpated rabbit. If she had gone back in and deepened the kiss, tilting her head to the side to avoid bumping against Regina’s mask, and Regina’s hands had pressed gently to her cheeks-

  


Emma jumped out of her revelry with a yelp when she felt something fall into her lap.

  


“Anything wrong?” the Baron asked from the opposite end of the room where he was putting away a book.

  


Emma was glad he was turned away, because she took several seconds to process what she was seeing.

  


“Oh, nothing. Just almost dropped my book,” she said, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears as she set her book aside and touched the foreign object that had appeared as if from nowhere.

  


Her spectacles.


End file.
